The Legacy of the Beast
by Fancy Friday
Summary: A year after their marriage, Prince Vincent and Belle are expecting. But when the happiest moment in their lives takes a beastly turn, will Belle and the Prince be able to overcome the curse once more?
1. Un

_**Summary:**_ A year after their marriage, Prince Vincent and Belle are expecting. But when the happiest moment in their lives takes a beastly turn, will Belle and the Prince be able to overcome the curse once more?

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own _Beauty and the Beast_, Disney does. All original characters, however, are mine.

* * *

_**The Legacy of the Beast**_

_by Fancy Friday_

. _**Un**_.

"Belle…? Belle! Heavens above, my dear, will you ever get your nose out of that _book_?!"

"Hmmm?" Belle's brown, doe-like eyes lifted from the page to peek above the book she was currently devouring.

Belle blinked slowly. A small smile twitching behind the book's cover as her gaze met a flustered wardrobe mistress, measuring tape spiralling to the floor in one hand, fabric samples fanned out in the other. White clouds of dust puffed from the imposing woman's extravagant powdered wig, her rouge lips pursed with exasperation towards the dreamy princess.

Belle smiled and stretched. Tucking a ribbon as a marker between the pages, she gently closed the book.

"Oh I am sorry Madame," she sighed airily as she lifted herself out of the high-backed chair she had been curled into, "I think my imagination just ran away from me!"

"Hmph!" Madame de la Grande Bouche harrumphed and lifted her eyes to the ceiling, "How am I ever going to take your measurements with your head in the clouds like that? A new season is almost upon us!"

Belle floated past the former-wardrobe, resting her hands on the castle window sill and gazing out to the scene beyond. The kingdom beckoned. A kingdom that far surpassed her old provincial life of village taverns and petty gossip. Instead, all she had read about: Prince Charmings, magic spells and dreams coming true, had blossomed into reality like the roses had done once the curse was broken. The castle, once swathed in shadows, now glistened upon the hilltop for all the countryside to see, its golden spires reaching towards the sky and gardens bursting with flowers. A castle that had once been her prison, but now, for almost a year…had been her home.

"Well, if that is the way you would like to do it, I suppose I will have to take your measurements from there!" Madame declared, whipping the measuring tape around the young princess' shoulders.

"Oh!" Belle laughed with surprise as she twirled around.

A stubby pencil dancing in the corner of Madame's mouth, the wardrobe mistress made quick work of jotting down a series of numbers that had Belle's mind in a spin.

"Mmhmm…ah! My goodness girl, Mrs. Potts must be feeding you well! You are no longer the skinny waif we first saw when you came to the castle!" Madame chortled jovially and pinched Belle's sides.

The princess' eyes widened with surprise as she held her stomach protectively. Well, truth be told, her dresses had been feeling a little tighter than usual lately…

"What was that Madame, dear?"

The squeak of a tea-trolley's wheels heralded a small, rosy-cheeked woman, her lavender mob cap bouncing up and down as she shuffled into Belle's royal dressing room.

"I thought you all would like a spot of tea," Mrs. Potts smiled warmly as she busied herself with pouring.

Belle took her teacup graciously, placing a peck on the former-teapot's cheek.

"Thank you Mrs. Potts."

"Well, I was just remarking on how well Belle has been looking lately, she is looking far more womanly if I say so myself!" Madame continued, practically barrelling Belle over with her inspection. Belle's eyes widened with mild alarm as the wardrobe mistress thrust her ample bosom into her vision.

Mrs. Potts managed a knowing smile.

"Well Madame, I think we all know that marriage has that kind of effect on young ladies," her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

Belle could not help but subconsciously rub the wedding band on her finger. She and Mrs. Potts shared a smile before the homely woman tutted:

"Come, come my child! Finish that tea before it gets cold!"

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, marriage was on the lips of some other members of staff. But instead of being thought of fondly, that one, simple word, '_marriage_', conjured up a flurry of something like…_panic_.

"One year. One _year_! Oh me, oh my, whatever are we going to _do_?!"

"Cogsworth, _mon ami_, you need to learn how to re-_lax_."

"Relax!? Relax! The anniversary is three days away! How can you _possibly_ relax?!"

Lumiere, former-candlestick, simply rolled his eyes at his stout friend's antics. _Ah Cogsworth_, he thought to himself, _you never change_! The suave valet straightened his white cravat and quirked an eyebrow as the rotund chief of staff barrelled around the lower floor of the castle barking orders in his too-tight red frock coat. A very amusing scenario indeed.

"_Zut alors_…" the lanky gentleman exhaled, striding after Cogsworth on the rampage.

"There is so much to be done! Oh me, oh my! You! Over there! Clean those windows before the Prince returns! And you! I don't know you but…make yourself useful! Polish the silver! Babette?! Where is Babette! The whole place is covered in _dust_!"

Cogsworth, red-faced and his auburn moustache twitching, was drawn to an immediate halt as his gangly companion placed a single finger on his forehead.

"Cogsworth," Lumiere spoke softly, holding up three fingers, "Three days. _Trois jours_. You have _plenty_ of time."

But the former clock was fit to burst.

"No we don't! No, no, no! Three days, we have no time! It took me three months to plan that wedding to perfection!"

"And what a success that was…" Lumiere drawled out of the corner of his mouth.

Cogsworth stopped, his moustache twitched.

"Yes, yes it was. Thank you," he commended himself at his role in organising the most spectacular wedding the castle had ever seen.

Lumiere rolled his eyes. Getting Cogsworth _off_ the subject of the wedding for the past year had been a task in itself. Every member of staff was almost bored to tears whenever the rather bossy fellow, who in some people's opinion should have remained a clock, decided to open up another conversation with: "And remember when _I_ organised the wedding…"

"Where is Mrs. Potts? We need to plan a feast! And not just any feast! A _banquet_!"

With a fervour that would put the Emperor Napoleon himself to shame, Cogsworth whipped up a frenzy in the castle staff. Buckets of sloshing water were whisked out as maids set to scrubbing the floors. Menservants dusted the curtains and clambered on rickety ladders to get to chandeliers. Someone had procured masses of flowers. Chip whizzed down the staircase banisters in his version of 'polishing' and Cogsworth was soon inundated with every possible menu imaginable.

The once tranquil castle was now bustling with action, the hushed tones overcome by the raucous noise of cleaning, Cogsworth's commands being the loudest.

"Scrub faster! You missed a spot! Oh me, oh my! No, you're not stacking those glasses properly!"

Lumiere wiped his brow as weariness overtook him at the sight of the castle staff in such a flurry. Drawing back one of the velvet drapes for a glimpse at the quieter gardens, he almost choked at what he saw.

"I say, Monsieur Cogsworth!"

"Not now Lumiere!"

The clattering, chattering, clinking and crashing of so many hands at work drowned out the valet's voice.

"But the-"

"What?!"

"Cogsworth the-"

"I am afraid I can't hear you!"

"_Mon ami_, listen to me-"

"Huh?"

But the din didn't last for long as the great double doors to the castle flung open and an imposing shadow swept over the frozen staff's faces.

"What is going _on_ in here?" a voice boomed.

Lumiere lifted his razor-sharp nose superiorly.

"The Prince, Cogsworth."

Cogsworth was all but reduced to a jittering heap. No one made a move.

Four carefully placed footsteps echoed in the cavernous castle, light streaming behind the figure. Prince Vincent, although no longer a beast, still cut a very imposing form. A navy frock coat with golden buttons was tailored to his well-built physique, his mass of auburn waves tamed by a navy ribbon, the Prince, in mud-splattered riding boots, folded his arms and raised an eyebrow above his piercing blue eyes, demanding an explanation.

"Well?" Vincent asked quietly, his voice still resounding in the dead silence that surrounded him.

From behind the Prince, a meek Maurice, Belle's beloved father and resident in the castle since the royal marriage, peeked out at the stunned scene before him. Cogsworth cleared his throat.

"Ah….well…um….you see….Your Highness…uh…Your Eminence…eep…Your Grace…"

"Get to the point Cogsworth," Prince Vincent tilted his head to the side, a slight growl rising in his voice.

The flustered chief of staff fanned himself.

"Spring cleaning?" he shrugged innocently.

A blank look settled over the Prince's features, a look that could range anywhere from a curt dismissal to an all-out roar. The entire castle braced itself.

A pattering of footsteps down the sweeping staircase caused Prince Vincent to lose his focus and instead meet the smile of his wife.

"Vincent!" Belle waved happily, weaving her way through the frozen staff. Her expression crinkled as she noticed everyone behaving so…oddly.

"What is going on down here?" she asked, laying a hand on her husband's arm. Her expression brightened as soon as she spied her father, "Oh Papa!"

Maurice chortled as his daughter placed a kiss on his balding head.

"How was the village?" Belle was suddenly full of questions, her eyes sparkling as she saw what her father had in his hands, "More books? Oh you shouldn't have! Tell Monsieur Livresque that I thank him for his generosity…!"

Mrs. Potts and Madame de la Grande Bouche, who had made their way onto the landing to watch the scene, exchanged bemused looks.

"That child has a whole library of books in this castle and still she asks to go to the village? Oh my!"

The books safely in her arms, Belle turned back to the motionless gathering before her. Her brown eyes narrowed slyly.

"What has happened?" she spoke slowly.

Prince Vincent's brow crinkled.

"I think _they_ have some explaining to do because when I left the castle this morning, everything was in order, but as soon as I returned it was like a _riot_!" Vincent, his temper flaring a little, spoke calmly yet with every word he uttered his servants flinched.

"Ahem, Cogsworth, _mon ami_…" Lumiere prompted, pushing his friend to the fore.

"M..m…me?" the small man squeaked.

Lumiere sighed.

"You're Highness, no harm was meant by this racket," Lumiere strode forwards, taking over in a far more eloquent fashion than Cogsworth could ever muster, "My _friend_, here, was simply trying to get things ready for…ahem…the royal anniversary."

The Prince and Princess stared at the valet.

"The anniversary?" they spoke in unison.

Then the franc dropped. Vincent and Belle met eyes.

"Oh!"

"Oh my goodness…" Belle rubbed her cheek with wonder, "Its three days away!"

"I cannot believe I almost completely forgot!" Vincent slapped his forehead and groaned.

"Has it been a year already?" Belle continued.

All of a sudden, the pair stopped and looked around them. They noticed the flowers, the crystal glasses, the diagrams of extravagantly iced cakes and acres of ribbon.

"But what _is_ all this?" Belle blinked with disbelief.

Cogsworth, his chattering tongue sufficiently recovered, barged in front of Lumiere.

"Why, they are the preparations, Princess!"

Belle and Vincent exchanged worried looks, the very same thought occuring in their minds. Vincent chewed his lip. Perhaps it would be best if Belle were the one the break the news…she was more of a _people_ person.

"Oh…" Belle breathed, trying to muster a smile, "It certainly is something Cogsworth…"

The chief of staff beamed.

"Um…but the Prince and I would prefer for our anniversary something a little more…_simple_?"

Belle tried to soften the blow with her winning smile. Cogsworth appeared to pale a shade.

"Simple…?" he wheezed, "Of…of course…! I can do…_simple_…"

All eyes were trained on the rotund man as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he keeled over, then and there, with a resounding _thud_.

Lumiere smirked.

"_Mon Dieu_…"

Belle's mouth dropped with surprise, crouching down to the unconscious fellow.

"Cogsworth…? Oh dear…"

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _As beginning's go...that was certainly a beginning! Please do scuttle on down to the button below and drop me a review! Tell me what you think: thoughts? Commendations? Complaints? I'm all ears (or eyes...)._

_Fancy Friday._


	2. Deux

**. **_**Deux **_**.**

_Three days later…_

The morning of her wedding anniversary dawned and Belle awoke to an empty bed.

As the sunlight tickled her eyes, the princess stretched and yawned, her brown waves sprawled across the white pillows. Normally she would roll over and nestle into her (usually snoring) prince, but this time…she found nothing but his impression in the wrinkled sheets. Blearily confused, Belle sat up, the collar of her nightgown slipping down her shoulder, and laid eyes on a crisp envelope, wax-stamped with the royal insignia.

Her lips quirking with curiosity, Belle pried open the envelope and unfolded the letter, recognising her husband's elegant hand instantly.

_Ma Chère Belle,_

_Forgive me for leaving you to wake up alone on our anniversary, but your beauty inspired me this morning to find you a present that you will never forget. Only the best will do._

_V._

Belle sighed and slumped back into the pillows. A momentary wave of dizziness overcame her, causing her to briefly hold her head. Shaking the odd feeling away, Belle wondered for a moment why things didn't feel quite…right. The young princess exhaled and made to slip out from under the covers, talking to herself:

"On with the day, Belle…"

* * *

The morning continued and Belle still could not shake that strange feeling.

Madame de la Grande Bouche prattled on to herself as she readied Belle's toilette:

"Yes, you will be a vision for him, my dear! Simply a vision! Oh ho, if only the Prince could see you now!"

And for once Belle did not object when Madame went a little more than overboard, coiffing Belle's brown waves into an elaborate chignon and even suggesting the use of a beauty patch or two ("All the rage in Versailles, my girl!"). The pale blue gown she wore was soon dripping with pearls, looking more suitable for a ball than breakfast.

For a moment Belle closed her eyes and almost swooned.

"Don't be silly, Belle," she told herself.

* * *

Belle usually welcomed Mrs. Potts' excellent cuisine, morning, noon, or night, but at breakfast this morning she was left staring at the plate feeling uncomfortably queasy.

The absence of Prince Vincent was keenly felt in the plush dining hall, his throne-like chair empty at the head of the elongated banquet table. Belle sat to its right, herself in a high-backed chair befit for a princess, with her father, Maurice, seated opposite.

Mrs. Potts tutted as she passed by, noticing Belle's barely touched food. Belle mustered a smile and tried to swallow a spoonful, but found herself almost gagging. Her stomach churned wildly and she was feeling quite lightheaded.

"Are you feeling all right, Belle?" Maurice asked kindly over the table, his expression, usually dazed with thoughts of his latest bizarre inventions, now creased with concern.

Belle smiled.

"Oh yes. I'm fine, Papa."

Mrs. Potts clicked her tongue again.

"Barely eaten anything, my child! This is not like you at all!"

"My daughter has always eaten everything off of her plate," Maurice gently reminded.

Belle pressed a napkin to her mouth, hoping she did not look as green as she felt.

"Will you excuse me for a moment…?"

Mrs. Potts and Maurice looked on with brows furrowed as the young princess made an immediate exit to the gardens outside.

Outside, Belle collected herself, the sweet air clearing her head and relaxing her. She wiped her hand along her forehead. _Whatever is the matter with me…?_ She wondered, hoping for a moment of peace and quiet to ponder her thoughts. But such a moment was not to last.

"Princess Belle! Princess Belle!" a young voice clamoured enthusiastically.

Belle looked up and couldn't help but smile as Chip, former teacup, raced to be her companion. Sultan, he castle's shaggy little dog (former footstool), yapped around the young boy's heels.

"Belle!" Chip exclaimed breathlessly, "Look what I can do!"

The boy showed the princess three oranges before proceeding to toss them up in the air in a juggling act.

Belle smiled and clapped.

"Oh! Well done Chip!"

Chip beamed as the oranges went around…and around…and around…

Belle blinked as dizziness hit her hard, her balance quavering for a moment. Chip slowed and stopped.

"Belle? Are you all right…? You're lookin' kinda pale…"

But Belle had no answer to Chip's question as she sank to the floor in a faint. For a moment, Chip stared, kneeling down to lift her limp head. Her soft lips were pursed, she was still breathing.

"Oh no!" Chip breathed to Sultan, who whined in response, "Oh no! Mama! Mama!"

"Mama! Mama!" Chip raced into the castle, making as much noise as he possibly could.

"Heavens Chip! Whatever is all this noise?" Mrs. Potts burst from the dining room, Maurice in tow. Her hands flew to her mouth as she spied the sprawled Belle.

"Oh my! Out of the way, Chip! Out of the way this instance!" Mrs. Potts gasped, rushing to her side, "Belle…? Belle dear?"

"My daughter, is that my daughter?" Maurice waddled out, his expression disbelieving, "Oh Belle!"

Soon enough the entirety of the castle staff was gathered round. Babette gasped and almost fainted herself. Madame was beside herself. Lumiere let out a heartfelt '_sacrebleu_!'

"Now, Lumiere, get Belle straight to the bedroom!" Mrs. Potts took charge.

Lumiere, with his long arms, gently scooped up the fainted princess, making haste to the master bedroom.

"Babette, we need a pitcher of water and a washcloth!"

"_Oui_, _oui_!"

"Madame! Ready some comfortable clothes for Belle!"

"Oh, certainly!"

"And Chip…?" Mrs. Potts knelt down to her trembling child. Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears, "I need to you run as fast as you can and fetch the Master, do you hear me?"

Chip nodded and was off before he could be asked twice. The castle was in a flurry of panic as Mrs Potts charged through.

"I'll call the physician!"

* * *

"Cogsworth, that is _not_ good enough!"

The daisy wilted in the moustached man's hands.

"Oh…" the former clock blubbered under his breath, "Well…whatever you say, Master…"

Prince Vincent paced, his white shirt billowing with the soft breeze that coursed across the meadow. Several strands of his russet hair came loose and whipped across his strong features. There, in the middle of a meadow adjacent to the castle, the prince of the land and his rather put-out butler stood. Metres away, Vincent's handsome black steed, Valiant, and Maurice's shaggy old pony, Philippe, milled about grazing. Vincent let out an exasperated sigh, his blue eyes searching for something he could not quite put his finger on. For a moment he balled up his fists, then let himself relax.

"I do not want a simple daisy, Cogsworth!" he explained, running his fingers through his hair, "Belle is much _more_ than a common daisy! I need something special…something unique…something unforgettable…something that just is…_Belle_!"

Cogsworth folded his arms and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his moustache twitching.

"Oh yes, very easy Monsieur Impossible!"

"I need something that shows her just how much she means to me…" Vincent continued, his eyes drifting wistfully to the castle.

Cogsworth huffed.

"Well, if you ask me, sire, I think looking here," he gestured to the vast expanse of the lush meadow in full bloom, "Would be about as productive as trying to find a pearl in the local oysters!"

The stout man sent a sly look of disdain towards the village, Belle's hometown, over the hill.

"_Everyone_ knows that the finest flowers in the land grow in the castle gardens!"

Prince Vincent let out another exasperated sigh, clutching his face in his hands.

"But she sees those flowers everyday!" he moaned.

"Why don't you just take her to Paris, You're Highness? Oh, there is plenty to see and do there…!" Cogsworth clapped his hands enthusiastically.

For a moment, Vincent appeared convinced. But another thought hit him and his shoulders slumped with a defeated sigh.

"No…" he shook his head wearily, "Belle said she wanted something simple…and getting to Paris would take half a day at least."

Cogsworth snorted and thrust out his lower lip.

"Simple!" he huffed under his breath, still irate at Belle's refusal for him to plan the anniversary of a lifetime, "Huh! Who has heard of simple? Hardly royal conduct at all!"

"If only I could find it, that one thing…! If only it would hit me-"

Prince Vincent continued to pace, very close to tearing out his abundance of hair, until a voice interrupted him.

"Prince Vincent! Prince Vincent!"

The pair looked up to see a panting Chip racing towards them, his arms waving. Philippe and Valiant both lifted their noses from the sweet grass they were happily munching on for the briefest of moments. Cogsworth rolled his eyes.

"Oh, here's trouble," he muttered sourly.

"Prince Vincent!" young Chip stumbled up to the monarch and his butler, breathless and red-faced, "Prince Vincent…you need to…come!"

Vincent raised an eyebrow.

"What is it Chip?"

"Belle…!" the boy breathed, "Belle…she…"

The Prince's blue eyes suddenly flashed with alarm.

"_Belle_?" he demanded, concern quivering in his voice. His strong arms practically lifted Chip off the ground, "What is the matter with her? Has something happened?"

"Belle…she…" Chip spluttered, taking gulping breaths, "She fainted, Master!"

Dread saw the colour drain from Vincent's face as he strode into action. Without a word the Prince mounted his black stallion, the skittish animal prancing back a few steps, and lifted Chip to sit against his chest. His exterior calm, but his mind a blur and his emotions tied up in knots, Prince Vincent glanced back at a fumbling Cogsworth attempting to mount Maurice's unruly Philippe.

"Come on Cogsworth! There isn't a minute to waste!" the Prince called, kicking the royal steed into a gallop.

Cogsworth merely huffed, clambering atop the disgruntled beast.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" he slipped his feet into the stirrups and tried to urge on the shaggy creature. Philippe merely rolled his eyes, "Ugh! Stupid animal!"

At this Philippe raised his horsey eyebrows. He had seen a lot in his day, trudging on reliably for Maurice and Belle, but _no one_, and that was _no one_, called him stupid! With a sharp whinny, Philippe took off in a rollicking canter, almost bumping Cogsworth right off.

"Ahhh!" the squat little butler cried, grabbing onto Philippe's mane for dear life. Cogsworth's voice travelled with the wind as the pair headed towards the castle, "Slooow dooown you imbecile creature!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews, its great to hear from you! My, my, all this action and its only the second chapter! I guess you will have to keep on tuning in to see what happens...!_

_So make my day and keep up the great responses by swaggering on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	3. Trois

**. **_**Trois**_** .**

There arrived a predicament in the castle when Mrs. Potts called for the 'royal physician', only to realise…there was none.

There had been a time, a very distant time, when there had indeed been such a person on-call to provide medical advice and remedies for the Prince and his family. But that was very long ago, and even back in the time when he was at service to the castle, the fellow had been getting on in years.

Mrs. Potts settled (whilst the rest of the castle was in a hysteria) that she would have to call someone from the nearby village. It was fortunate enough that Cogsworth was absent with Prince Vincent, for the idea of calling someone from the village to the castle (oh, the provincial _horror_!) would be blasphemous.

The kindly matron had remembered, upon a previous discussion with Belle about her simpler life, that there had been two people upon which one could seek medical assistance. The first being Monsieur Louche, a man of dubious character, more of a master of quackery than a _qualified_ doctor. But Monsieur Louche had always been popular with the village, merely because the prices of his rather suspicious services were often the only the villagers could afford.

Fortunately for Mrs. Potts, there was an alternative. That being Monsieur Méticule, an aging gentleman who was apparently from Paris before setting up shop in this rather small and gossipy town, only to have no one frequent his services. It was well known that Monsieur Méticule required payment in _gold pieces_, and such an idea was beyond the imaginations of the common people that surrounded him. For Mrs. Potts, however, he was just right.

Méticule, an aging man who's line of sight met most people's stomachs, did not need to be called twice when the castle summoned him. It had been beyond his wildest dreams that he would once again set foot in a royal domain since his heady days at service to princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses in both Versailles and Paris. With his dapper little black frock coat and a rickety cane, the doctor, who had once been on all the lips of Parisian Society, shuffled into the imposing castle, his small frame slightly intimidated by the sheer _size_ of the place, but his keen eyes agleam at the thought of the large sum of gold that would come at the end of it.

Lumiere and Mrs. Potts were at his side in an instant, whisking him upstairs.

"Oh Monsieur Méticule, thank heavens you are here!"

"Monsieur, _c'est une catastrophe_!"

"Right this way, right this way now! There isn't a moment to dawdle!"

The bewildered old man looked about him. It seemed the entirety of the castle staff had formed an entourage, trailing after him. But his observation only lasted a moment as Mrs. Potts bustled him past two great double doors leading to the master bedroom, shutting them purposefully and leaving everyone else waiting anxiously outside.

* * *

"Belle! Belle! Where is she?"

Vincent hollered as he burst into the castle, almost barging down a nervous Lumiere. The lanky valet could see the panic in the Prince's eyes, the sheer dread at the prospect that the worst could have befallen his precious wife. Lumiere squeaked and pointed.

"Upstairs, You're Highness!"

Lumiere was left a crumpled heap on the floor as Vincent scaled the grand staircase in leaps and bounds. His boots raced along the landing, swinging open the doors to the small antechamber that preceded the royal bedroom (almost barrelling over a stunned Maurice in the process) and making to open the imposing wooden double doors that lead to where Belle was being kept when…Mrs. Potts opened the door from inside causing the Prince to skid to a halt. Her expression firm, she placed a finger on her lips:

"Shhhh!"

Prince Vincent was speechless.

"But…but…Belle!" he spluttered.

Mrs. Potts' good-natured expression was firm.

"Belle is being looked after, now keep quiet and sit down like everybody else! The last thing the poor dear needs is you barging in on her!"

And with that, the door was shut smartly in the Prince's face.

Dumbstruck, Vincent turned around to Belle's father who was seated by a crackling fire.

"Sometimes with these things we just need to wait," Maurice explained softly.

_Wait_? No one had ever told Prince Vincent to _wait_! Or actually…the only person that had told him to show a little patience had been, well…Belle herself.

"Wait!?" Vincent demanded, "But I can't! My wife…my Belle…she needs me!"

Maurice, a kind fatherly spark in his eye towards the frustrated prince, drew up another chair.

"Now, now," he beckoned the irate Vincent, "Come and sit down. Whatever would my Belle think if she saw you like this?"

The mere mention of Belle had the Prince's shoulders slump. His temper subsided and melancholy took its place.

"What is the matter with her?" he asked despairingly, his head in his hands.

Oh yes, the Prince had always been melodramatic, even before his beastly days, but the horrendous experience of his curse only heightened his ability to think of the worst. To him, Belle could possibly be dying. And to have her die would snuff out all the light in his life. Maurice patted the Prince gingerly. Belle's father had not quite forgotten, even after a year, the time when he was imprisoned under the command of the Beast.

"For that, we shall just have to wait and see."

* * *

Forty five minutes passed in the small antechamber and as the hearth died, Maurice's snuffling became snores. One person who would not fall asleep, however, was Prince Vincent, his blue eyes glued to the clock with every passing minute.

"Why is this taking so long?!" he growled, jumping up from the chair and making to kick a footstool across the room.

He froze as soon as the door clicked open. Whirling around, the Prince spied Mrs. Potts and the dour Monsieur Méticule shuffling out of the royal bedroom.

"Belle!" Vincent rushed up to the pair, almost bowling them over, "Is she all right? What is wrong with her?"

At the sound of Vincent's demands, Maurice awoke with a snort. Mrs. Potts wore a secretive little smile.

"Oh Master, it is only a condition as old as time itself…" she chortled.

Instead of allaying the Prince's fears, it heightened them as he grabbed Méticule by the shoulders and practically shook the living daylights out of him.

"What is the matter with her? Is it serious? Is she dying? Will someone tell me _something_!?"

Sufficiently rattled, the aging physician searched his brain for a way to explain such a situation to the monarch.

"Well…er…" Méticule cleared his throat nervously, "She is in a _delicate_ condition."

The Prince stared blankly.

"What condition?!"

"Erm…well…you see…she is _expecting_."

"Expecting what?!"

"Ahem…oh my…you could say she is in the _family way_."

"_What_?!"

Mrs. Potts shook her head with disbelief.

"Master," she interrupted before the euphemisms got anymore obscure, "Belle is going to have a baby."

The silence was so perfect you could hear a pin drop. Mrs. Potts beamed at Prince Vincent's frozen shock.

"A…baby…?" Vincent gathered his bearings, exhaling with astonishment, "As in…my baby?"

"That's right," Mrs. Potts nodded, "She is about a month along. Come now, you can visit her if you like. But remember, be gentle with her."

Vincent gave the homely matron a look of trepidation, as if he was not quite sure what lay beyond the threshold. The prospect of imminent fatherhood had not quite sunken in and suddenly he was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do. It was almost as if he were the clumsy Beast again, fumbling with his knife and fork and clueless at how to woo the vivacious Belle. A baby! Why hadn't anyone given him any warning?

"Are…are you sure?" he asked nervously, staring at his big hands as if a single touch from them would break the fragile Belle…and the little life living inside of her.

Mrs. Potts tutted and shooed him in.

"Go on you big sook! My, my!"

The door clicked shut behind him and Prince Vincent faced the four poster bed he shared with his wife. The luxurious white and gold curtains had been drawn up against the elegantly carved wooden posts and a plush array of downy pillows comforted the one person he loved most dearly in his life.

"Belle…" Vincent whispered, hesitantly approaching.

In the silence of the room his presence felt too big, his footsteps too loud and his breathing too heavy. Everything was so delicate, so precious…he felt like a clumsy fool again. Belle, in a white nightdress, her brown waves combed loose with a slight blush of pink in her cheeks, opened her brown eyes from where she had been resting. A warm, almost sleepy smile spread upon her lips.

"Vincent," she beckoned, glancing to the chair pulled up to her right.

Vincent swallowed and fidgeted, the usually imposing Prince reduced to a bundle of nerves as he approached his wife, who was very familiar, and also to what was inside of her, which was the unknown.

"You can come and sit besides me. I am not going to break, silly!" Belle suddenly remarked.

Vincent's face flushed crimson as he realised she had noticed his hesitance. In a burst of energy he rushed to her side, causing her to laugh with surprise.

"Oh Belle!" Vincent sighed, cupping her cheek tenderly, "Oh Belle I was so worried!"

Belle lifted her brown gaze to meet his and he just about melted. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think that you worry too much, Vincent!" she stated. _Ah yes_, her husband thought, _still the same old honest Belle_.

"But when I heard the news…" he continued.

"Vincent…"

"And I thought that…"

"Vincent…!"

"I could only think of the worst!"

"Vincent!" Belle whispered, pushing down the bed covers and placing his large hand on her flat belly.

The Prince shut his mouth with surprised silence. He was not expecting that.

Belle kept her small white hand on top of his, moving his hand to gently rub and caress her stomach. Her brown eyes keenly followed the silent flickering of emotions across his face and the tears welling up in his blue eyes. She wore a tiny, knowing smile. Vincent looked up and caught her gaze, wearing a smile of astonishment but also of extreme pride and love. Belle let out a satisfied sigh.

"Look at what we did, Vincent."

And indeed, they both concluded, it was the best type of anniversary present anyone could ever think of.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Ah yes, mush, mush, mush! Well, that's Disney for you! Thank you everyone for your fantastic reviews, it means so much to me that people are enjoying this!_

_Well, most stories end with a baby being born, but mine is only just beginning...so you'll have to keep tuned to see how imminent parenthood is going to affect Belle and Vincent!_

_Do what you do best and mosey on down to that button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	4. Quatre

**. **_**Quatre**_** .**

The news that a royal birth was less than seven months away brought a host of reactions from the castle. The first being excitement and joy. Only a handful of servants could remember the last royal birth the castle had had, being that of Prince Vincent himself, so a little bundle of joy to join the Prince and Princess seemed long overdue.

There was only one person who had a rather different reaction to the news. Naturally, it had to be Cogsworth.

"A baby…? Oh me…oh my…!"

And with that he was out cold on the floor. Lumiere chuckled and shook his head as a startled Babette gasped.

"Ah, _mon ami_, you just don't have it in you like you used to!"

Maurice was quite beside himself at the entire prospect.

"My daughter…is having a baby…?" the old man scratched his head in wonder, "Why…that means I am going to be a grandpapa!"

Mrs. Potts, the only one in the castle with the largest brood, was taking charge already in a role she was practically born to do.

"Oh, to think of it!" she would chortle down the hallways, "A little Prince or Princess with ten little fingers and ten little toes! Simply a delight!"

Chip, meanwhile, was excited merely by the idea that in eight months time he would no longer be the youngest member in the castle.

Belle and Vincent, however, hardly noticed the blur the castle was in. Standing by the balcony looking onto the gardens and inhaling the sweet springtime air, Belle smiled with pleasure as Vincent encircled his arms around her, his large palms softly rubbing her belly.

"Is it kicking yet?" the Prince asked innocently, cupping his wife's stomach.

Belle sniggered at her husband's naïveté.

"Oh Vincent," she giggled, "You will have to wait for me to get a little bigger before we can feel that!"

She turned around to see his confused expression, the Prince scratching his neck.

"Oh…well, I don't really know much about…erm…"

"…Babies?" Belle finished his awkward sentence.

"Yes," Vincent cleared his throat, "Um, them."

When Belle thought upon it, she came to the realisation that neither did she. Being an only child and having her mother die young had not blessed her with a younger sibling to learn by. And of course she knew the village children, but they were _children_, not _babies_! Only very rarely had she seen women carry tiny swaddled babies around town, and for a woman to appear pregnant in town…well, it simply was not done!

Brought up by her lonely father who was often too busy with his madcap ideas to mention such important facts of life to a growing girl, it dawned upon Belle that she did not know a great deal about this whole baby thing. Of course, she was no fool. She knew that women expecting a child would grow big and round and somewhere along the way there appeared a baby. But despite all her avid reading (of fairytales, mostly) not a single book she had laid eyes upon mentioned this suddenly very daunting business.

Belle sighed and rested into Vincent's embrace, soothed by his gentle rubbing.

"Well," she remarked, "I guess it will be one big adventure for the both of us!"

* * *

"By order of His Royal Highness Prince Vincent…"

"No, no, no! That does not sound right!"

"Well! Fine! What about: Prince Vincent and Princess Belle would like to announce…?"

"That, _mon ami_, is better!"

Several days had passed since the news had been announced, and when the castle had calmed down a little, Lumiere and Cogsworth were put to the task of telling the rest of France. Quill a-quivering, Cogsworth wrote furiously on the parchment, red-faced and determined. Lumiere leant over his friend's shoulder, scanning every word, and once the little piece was finished he nodded and gave a noise of satisfaction.

"_Parfait_!"

* * *

"Look Mama! Look up there!"

A small child cried and pointed up the hill from the village square. The surrounding villagers hushed and stopped what they were doing: market vendors ceased calling out about their bargain prices, the baker almost dropped his tray of freshly baked buns, the drunkards who still liked a drink in the morning stuck their rosy-cheeked faces out of the tavern windows. All eyes followed a royal carriage, winding its way down from the castle on the hilltop, flanked by two horsemen and waving royal banners.

A ripple of excitement passed through the provincial crowd.

"Look there!"

"The Prince and the Princess!"

"Clear the square! Clear the square!"

In the open-air carriage, nestled up against the soft seating, Vincent and Belle entwined their fingers and smiled. Belle blinked as she noticed her husband's fingers trembling.

"Are you nervous, Vincent?" she asked quietly.

"Me? Nervous? No!" the Prince scoffed in response, as if the very idea were an insult to his manliness.

Just when he thought Belle was looking away, he turned his blue gaze back to her. He swallowed. Although he hated to admit it, he really was anxious. Not only was he about to announce the biggest thing that was happening in his life since the wedding, but something about the village that lay down the hilltop from the castle made him uneasy. Closing his eyes, the Prince could never quite forget the terror that clutched his beastly heart when the villagers had laid siege to the castle under the command of Gaston. Belle sensed his tension.

"Everything will be fine," she spoke soothingly with a smile that turned his legs to jelly every time.

The carriage drew to a halt, the dust settling from the horses' hooves. All the townsfolk had gathered around in a whispering, curious circle, muttering with excitement as Cogsworth dismounted from a grumbling Philippe and straightened his frock coat.

"Ahem! Ahem!" the stout man's moustache twitched as he procured a scroll of parchment that rolled out to the floor, "Their Royal Highnesses Prince Vincent and Princess Belle would like to announce the happy news that they are expecting another addition to their family, due in November."

Belle and Vincent exchanged looks in the carriage. They raised their eyebrows and smirked. _Ah Cogsworth, always straight to the point_.

There was a brief silence amongst the townspeople, quickly replaced by excited murmuring, then chattering, then all-out cheers. Belle beamed as she waved from the carriage, the villagers clapping and conversing happily. If one thing could be relied upon in this small provincial town, it would be that this news would travel quickly around the country.

The town's lips were never motionless:

"Bonjour! Have you heard the news?"

"News? What news?"

"The Princess is expecting a baby!"

"The Princess? As in that little book-mouse Belle?"

"_Sacrebleu_!"

"Who could believe it?!"

"Oh, such happy news! A little Prince or Princess!"

"And isn't she simply glowing? Oh, the picture of motherhood!"

Some people, however, were not quite so thrilled by the news. The three Bimbettes, forever dressed in black since the untimely death of their beloved Gaston, sniffed simultaneously and held their noses high.

"Oh! Who cares about that little bookworm?!" scoffed one.

"Babies! Everyone is having babies! What's all the fuss?" exclaimed another.

"I bet she's going to gain, like, a hundred pounds!" drawled the third, "Not such a belle anymore!"

Others, with slightly more cunning minds, decided to turn this news into quite a profitable business venture. LeFou, Gaston's old lackey, had scrabbled his way to the tavern windows to witness the announcement. Fumbling and clambering over dopey drunks, the little man's eyes widened and glittered.

"A baby, eh?" he stroked his chin as the idea percolated in his mind.

Admittedly, LeFou hadn't always been the brightest of fellows. Coming up with ideas and putting them into action had always been the Great Gaston's job. But now with the legendary fighter, hunter and womaniser out of the picture (all that remained of the memory of Gaston was a lopsided oil painting that hung in the local tavern which LeFou paid homage to daily), LeFou now had to come up with his own ideas. Most of those involving money.

...And what money he could make from this!

Jumping down from the brawny men he had climbed upon, LeFou spat into his hand and slicked back his hair, waving his hat like a showman. He found the most rickety tavern stool to leap upon, wavering precariously for a moment as he made a great announcement of his own:

"Roll up! Roll up! Place your bets now! What will it be: boy or girl? Prince or Princess? That's right, place your bets! It's never too early, get them in now! There's only seven months left to go! Get them in before the royal brat is born!"

LeFou's smile widened as his hat filled with shiny coins. For once he was thanking the Prince and Princess who had earned his resentment since Gaston plummeted to his death.

_LeFou_, the little man's mind raced, _you're a genius_!

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Thanks for the terrific responses, everyone! I am so thrilled that you are liking this, and believe me, we still have a while to go! Thank you for your encouragement and advice, it really motivates me to post up chapters as quickly as I can._

_So let me know what you think and toddle on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	5. Cinq

_**. Cinq .**_

The springtime weeks passed and in Belle's previously flat belly grew a bump. Vincent found himself fascinated by the new aspect of his wife's figure as she passed from her second month into her third, loving to run his large hands over it in the morning.

Madame was already altering Belle's dresses, marvelling at how, almost daily, the Princess was outgrowing her old clothes. And for Mrs. Potts, breakfast became a whole new ordeal as she took special charge of looking after the expecting Belle. Belle's eyes widened every morning at the feast Mrs. Potts' expected her to eat.

"Oh goodness…" Belle remarked, seating herself beside her husband to half a table full of food.

Platters burst with fruit, cheese upon cheese was stacked high, fresh bread tumbled from baskets…and that was only the half of it. Belle's meals quite dwarfed those of Vincent's and Maurice's, and if any of the pair (mainly Vincent) ever reached out to touch any of the food, they were quickly smacked away by Mrs. Potts and scolded.

"Mrs. Potts…are you sure I can manage to eat _all_ of this?" Belle asked uncertainly, never wanting to be rude to the kindly woman but finding herself quite lost in the jungle full of food.

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Potts chirped somewhere over near the iced cakes, "You're eating for two now, remember?"

Belle sighed and set to the task of heaping her plate with food. With the size of this feast, it felt like she was eating for eight!

Despite the excitement he naturally felt for the prospect of becoming a father, Prince Vincent also found himself quite bewildered by the strange behaviour all the women in the castle were displaying towards Belle. Starting with the 'girls only' discussions they had taken to having in the drawing room. Vincent found out the hard way that he was not privy to such intimate conversations when he carelessly strode into the room that rightfully belonged to _his_ castle…only to be shooed out by Mrs. Potts and Madame, the door shut in his face.

All the men in the castle were curious to know what exactly was going on behind these closed doors, but hadn't the courage to face the wrath of Mrs. Potts.

For Belle, meanwhile, it was like a whole new world had opened up to her. All these secrets and womanly knowledge she had no idea about when she was an unmarried girl was suddenly foisted upon her now that she was married and an impending mother. Comfortably settled in a high-backed chair plumped with pillows, Mrs. Potts, Madame and Babette crowded around the Princess like fussing hens.

"Now, my dear, how are you feeling?" Mrs. Potts asked, pouring Belle a cup of tea. It seemed every conversation nowadays started with that question.

"I am fine, Mrs. Potts. Never better!" Belle smiled and shook her head at the matron's unceasing concern.

"No more sickness in the mornings? No more dizziness and faints?" Mrs. Potts continued. Being a mother several times over herself, Mrs. Potts knew all about the afflictions pregnancy could bring.

"No, it's all gone! I've never felt healthier in my entire life," Princess Belle remarked, herself relieved that for once the queasiness of the mornings had gone and she could finally look at a plate of food without having to be excused.

Belle's slight morning sickness had put her husband on edge, constantly badgering Mrs. Potts about 'something being wrong with Belle and the baby' and simply not accepting that Belle's current condition was natural.

"Well, that is good news then! And now you must eat up! We cannot have you wasting away!"

Belle groaned as a plate of scones was shoved under her nose. After such a mammoth breakfast, Belle felt like she did not want to contemplate eating for another few days.

"Oh Mrs. Potts!" she laughed weakly, pushing the scones away, "With all this food you are giving me I am never going to fit into my clothes!"

"Mmmph! She's right there!" Madame remarked from a mouthful of scone, "Barely fitting into her old altered dresses now! I shall have to get her new clothes in a month early!"

* * *

Outside the drawing room, Prince Vincent paced. The sound of female laughter rankled his nerves. He wanted to know what was going on! Never one to like secrecy (especially when it potentially concerned him) Vincent strode through the castle determined to find the one person who might have the answers to all his questions.

"Maurice!" the Prince barked as he found the old man tinkering away with his latest crazy invention.

"What?! Oof!" Belle's father looked up, in the process knocking his head against a plank of wood. Steadying himself, the shadow of the tall Prince fell across his face.

"Maurice! There you are! Tell me…what do you know about babies?" Vincent dropped his voice at the last bit, looking around in case someone else was listening.

"Babies…?" the bewildered old man asked.

"Yes!" Vincent whispered urgently, "Babies!"

The befuddled man scratched his head and pondered. What _did_ he know about babies? Having raised Belle since her first few hours in this world, he ought to know something!

The memory of a tiny Belle, her mop of brown hair falling across her docile eyes, reaching up with curiosity to pull on her Papa's moustache, had Maurice's expression crinkle with wistfulness. But with the happy memory of Belle's birth, an ache of sadness tugged at his heartstrings. For, with Belle's arrival into this world, Maurice had lost his cherished wife.

Shaking his head clear of the memories, Maurice knew that telling Vincent the exact circumstances of Belle's birth would probably cause the Prince more worry than good.

"Ahem…babies…" Belle's father cleared his throat, "Well…erm…you see, they are not like you and me…"

Vincent arched an eyebrow. Maurice stuttered. It was probably not the best note to start on.

"You see, they are very small," he held his hands together, indicating the size, "And you need to be gentle with them."

Vincent stared at his hands, his heart sinking. _Gentle_. Well, of course, he was always gentle with Belle…but with a baby? That was a thousand times more bewildering! He could accidentally hurt the child! Squeeze it too tightly! Drop it on its head! Vincent shuddered at the mere thought.

"I cannot do this!" the Prince declared, trying to hide the shaking in his voice, "I'm…I'm just too big! I'm too clumsy! Babies…they're so small and fragile…and look at me..."

Maurice's expression creased with sympathy at the distraught Prince. Vincent stared at his hands, turning them over, half expecting them to be large beastly paws once more. He jumped with surprise as Maurice placed something in them.

"Nothing a little practice won't help," Belle's father's eyes twinkled.

Vincent stared down at what he had in his hands. He stared blankly at the dotty old man that must have surely lost his marbles by now.

"It's a sack of flour." the Prince spoke dully.

"Go on…" Maurice urged, "Pretend that it's a baby."

Vincent's blue eyes appeared unconvinced. Maurice stroked his moustache as an idea hit him, taking back the small sack of flour and finding a pencil.

Having the sack returned to him, Prince Vincent raised another sceptical eyebrow.

"It's a sack of flour with a face drawn on it."

The soft, rectangular thing stared up at the Prince with two dots for eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Vincent grimaced. Maurice, never one to control his imagination, encouraged the monarch.

"Go on. Just pretend."

Vincent snorted a puff of air through his nose. It looked like he had no choice.

"Fine," he muttered, not quite sure if he should be humiliated or outraged by this situation. Maurice set to work.

"Well, firstly, you're holding the baby all wrong!"

Vincent blinked as he found the old man moving his arms so the sack of flour cradled nicely in them.

"There we go…and don't forget to hold the head. Gently now. Now, why don't you try rocking it back and forth?"

Vincent, his cheeks at first aflame, soon relaxed as he fell into an easy rhythm, rocking the soft and squishy sack back and forwards as if it were a real baby. His lips twitched upwards into a small smile. Maybe he could do this!

"Vincent…?"

A voice behind him caused the Prince to practically leap out of his boots, the sack of flour soaring up into the air and falling with a thud between him and Maurice, a great cloud of white dust engulfing the both of them. Coughing and spluttering, Prince Vincent and Maurice turned to the source of interruption, covered in white.

Belle laughed out loud as she saw the state her father and husband were in, Mrs. Potts, Babette and Madame chuckling behind her.

"Oh Vincent!" Belle laughed and shook her head.

If Vincent had not been completely dusted in flour, Belle would have seen his cheeks flaming crimson. The Princess stepped up to her husband, her brown eyes sparkling mischievously as she teasingly tapped his nose. Vincent let out a big sneeze in response. Folding his arms and narrowing his blue eyes in the direction on Maurice, the Prince could not help but burn with humiliation.

"It's all his fault!" he muttered sulkily.

Belle raised her eyebrows and gave Vincent a quizzical smile.

"Papa," she turned to Maurice, "Have you been distracting Vincent with your ideas again?"

Her father scratched his head.

"Why…I have done nothing of the sort, my dear!"

Belle's brilliant smile returned to her pouting husband. Taking his hands, she squeezed them playfully.

"Oh Vincent!" she rolled her eyes, "Stop being such a grump! Lighten up a little!"

"I am not a grump!" Vincent protested.

Belle placed a finger on his lips, silencing him.

"Come on, I think we have a little cleaning up to do. Mrs. Potts, could you find some warm water and a washcloth? I think this might take some time…"

Prince Vincent found himself yanked along by his wife back to the castle, his blue eyes keenly aware of his servants sniggering behind his back. The Prince huffed. He surely hoped _real _babies weren't this much trouble!

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Another chapter, another chapter! Once again: reviewers, you are terrific!_

_Speaking of reviews, I have a point of clarification regarding the previous chapter (thanks to SamoaPhoenix9 and TrudiRose who brought this up, it's a fairly crucial point!):_

_In my interpretation of the 'aftermath' of the Beast's transformation, the villagers, to the most part, are still unaware that Prince Vincent was once the Beast. 'The Beast', for them, is still the stuff of legend, and Prince Vincent's sudden appearance in the castle after years of absence was believed to be that he had returned from travelling abroad. Of course, in small towns such as this, people have a tendency to talk so they have come up with their own fanciful reasons for why the Prince disappeared. What still confounds most villagers, however, is that the Prince, of all people, chose to marry Belle, the local bookworm._

_In the case of LeFou: yes, he does know more about the Beast and Belle than the average villager, being Gaston's lackey and all. But then again, he never actually came face-to-face properly with the Beast, like Gaston had (and we all know how that ended) so he hasn't got any proof that the stories are true. His main resentment towards Belle and Vincent is Gaston's death, which occurred at the castle (at the hands of whom, he does not know) and the fact that Belle had no hesitation in marrying Vincent when (in Lefou's eyes) she should have been mourning 'the Great Gaston.' And of course, LeFou resents all royalty because, naturally, they have more money than him. It simply isn't fair.  
_

_Of course, all this will come up later in the story (with more detail) as we meet LeFou again under more sinister circumstances. I hope this answers all your questions and that we are all on the same page! Make sure you keep this in mind a few chapters down the track when the story brings us back to the villagers...but for that, you will have to wait, mes amis!_

_Anymore questions, I am happy to answer them! Now that I've given you my lengthy dissertation, do what you do and skip on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	6. Six

_**. Six .**_

With the arrival of summer, Belle entered her fourth month, her stomach rapidly growing from a mere bump to a round swelling showing visibly in her clothes.

The summer was balmier than usual, Belle preferring to spend her days outdoors under the gazebo where a cool breeze would drift by. More often than not, Vincent would find his glowing wife reading, propped up in a chair with her hand absent-mindedly rubbing her belly. The Prince sighed whilst taking in the scene, a happiness he once never thought possible ebbing throughout him.

Belle smiled dreamily, turning the page as she read on. Then, without warning, she felt the strangest of sensations.

"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, almost dropping her book and looking down on her stomach.

Vincent's eyes widened with panic as his wife made the slightest of noises, rushing to her side.

"What's the matter? What has happened? Is it the baby?" he stumbled upon her, breathless with anxiety.

Belle, instead of appearing fearful, looked up at her husband with a radiant smile.

"Kicking!" she whispered excitedly, "I felt the baby kicking!"

Vincent's worried expression softened. He exhaled with relief.

"The baby's kicking? Could…could I…"

He eyed her stomach nervously. Belle smiled and took his hand, placing it high on her belly, her eyes gleaming.

"Can you feel it?" she asked, biting her lip with the thrill of it.

Vincent's face fell. He shook his head. Disappointment overwhelmed him. His wife wore a determined expression, moving his hand to her side. Vincent sighed, about give up on the whole thing…when something bumped up against his hand.

Gasping with surprise, he looked up to his smiling wife.

"I…I felt it!"

Vincent had never been so amazed in his entire life.

* * *

The weeks passed, as they had a tendency to do, and Belle found herself growing quite concerned.

No one else really seemed to understand.

"You've always been a small girl, my dear. It's completely natural," Mrs. Potts assured.

"Oh heavens, Belle!" Madame would declare with frustration as, for the second time that week, the Princess burst the seams of one of her new Parisian dresses, "Whatever is Mrs. Potts feeding you?!"

And Vincent was not much help either.

Standing in front of a full length mirror in her nightgown, Belle ran her hands over her large stomach as her husband readied himself for the morning. At five months along, Belle hadn't expected to get quite so…big.

"Vincent?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I look too big?"

The Prince looked up from where he was sliding on his boots, a smile curling at his lips. Striding over to his concerned wife, he took her by the shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I think you look beautiful."

With that, he rubbed her stomach lovingly and made on with his day. Belle's shoulders slumped and she huffed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. He hadn't answered the question.

Belle squeezed herself into the chair at breakfast with some discomfort. Wearily, she tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and laid eyes on the huge meal Mrs. Potts had prepared for her. She sighed, her expression crinkling for a moment as she felt the baby inside of her kick actively. Looking down on her stomach, she pressed a finger to her lips:

"Shhh!"

Whilst she loved the feeling of her child within her, Belle couldn't help but wonder lately if the little life inside of her had a little _too_ much energy. It seemed to be kicking and stirring at all angles, barely ceasing at morning, noon and night, and sometimes she couldn't help but wish if it would just go to sleep for a little bit!

"Belle dear! You are barely eating!" Mrs. Potts observed with alarm.

Belle sighed wearily. She attempted a smile.

"I am just a little tired, Mrs. Potts."

Mrs. Potts nodded understandingly and patted the Princess on the shoulder.

"Ah yes dear, that is to be expected."

Belle huffed with mild irritation.

"With all this kicking the baby is doing, I am barely getting any sleep at all! And am I really supposed to be this big, Mrs. Potts? I can hardly fit into the chair!"

Mrs. Potts lips pursed at Belle's rare outburst.

"Well my dear," the older woman reasoned, "If you really are that concerned, perhaps we should call the physician?"

* * *

"Mmmhmm…ah, yes…I see…"

Belle almost went cross-eyed as Monsieur Méticule whipped a measuring tape around her expanded waistline. Vincent eyed the doctor warily and the rest of the castle staff looked on with curiosity as the short fellow carried out a thorough examination of the Princess.

Méticule observed the measurements he had taken of Belle's body, nodding and muttering to himself. Belle jumped with surprise as the doctor pressed his ear up against her belly, his brow furrowed with concentration. She watched him with guarded surprise as he sidled around the whole circumference of her protruding figure, his ear up against the fabric of her dress and his hands occasionally feeling for any movement.

"Mmmhmm…quite a bit of kicking, you said?" the doctor finally asked after a tense silence.

"Well, yes…" Belle answered.

Méticule returned to his measuring tape.

"You certainly are much bigger than for what is normal for someone at five months."

Belle felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Well this is certainly interesting," Méticule concluded cheerily.

Belle and Vincent exchanged worried looks.

"I have not seen a case like this in years…"

Their worry turned into alarm. All eyes turned to the doctor for an answer. He smiled and stroked his moustache.

"Well, it seems that the Princess is not expecting one baby…but two."

There was silence.

"Twins?" Belle breathed, visibly shocked.

Méticule turned away from the surprised gathering, washing his hands.

"That's right," he called over his shoulder, "I heard two little heartbeats in there. You are indeed expecting twins."

Belle glowed, turning to her husband who looked a little more than dazed.

The doctor cleared his throat, returning to the Princess who Mrs. Potts had promptly seated.

"I must admit," his aged voice croaked as he cleaned his glasses, "I have not seen a case of twins for quite some time. They are rather unusual. Princess Belle must be given extra care: she must not be strained in any way and she must be eating properly and well rested at all times."

Cogsworth had whipped out a piece of parchment and a quill, nodding furiously as he jotted down these vital notes.

"Well!" Cogsworth muttered, "This changes everything now! Now we need two of everything…two bassinets, two Christening robes, more blankets and heavens! Think of the diapers! Oh me, oh my…we may even need to get a wet nurse! There is so much work to be done and so little time to do it!"

Lumiere sighed and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"_Mon ami_, rest assured, we still have another four months!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** There we go, another chapter for you all! I hope you are enjoying it so far, and enjoy the mushy/fluffiness whilst it lasts...in upcoming chapters this story will take quite the turn!_

_Thank you to all those who have reviewed, and to those who are reading: it would be great to hear from you! Do what you do and wriggle on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	7. Sept

_**. Sept .**_

The fact that Belle was now having twins changed _everything_ in the castle. Cogsworth, Lumiere and Mrs. Potts had been carefully planning for the most spectacular royal birth the castle had seen in years…everything now had to be _doubly_ spectacular. And fast.

Just as the Prince and Princess had thought things had slowed down a little since the announcement that Belle was expecting, every member of castle staff was once again frantic, bustling, and itching to get the job done.

Mrs. Potts was worried that the room they had chosen for the nursery would no be big enough for two.

Lumiere soon found himself inundated with orders for the finest items across France. Whatever they had been preparing for the first baby, the second could not be without.

Cogsworth, meanwhile, found himself practically pulling his moustache out over the wallpaper to be used on the nursery walls:

"Will it be blue…or pink? Two boys…or two girls…? Or…oh heavens! What if it is a boy _and _a girl?!"

"I've always preferred yellow. A nice neutral, happy colour, that one." Mrs. Potts peeked over his shoulder, soothing the frazzled butler with a welcome cup of tea.

Vincent soon found he could not take a single step in his own castle without being bombarded by questions:

"Master! What do you think…?"

"Do you like it…?"

"Is it fit for a Prince or Princess…?"

Never one to like his personal space imposed upon, Prince Vincent came very close to flinging away several members of his staff and shouting: 'just leave me alone!'

Weary, frustrated and thoroughly sick and tired of all this baby nonsense, Vincent stormed into the downstairs drawing room where he knew Belle was waiting for him. Huffing and slamming the door, a little growl escaped his throat.

Belle, her brown eyes glancing up from the small writing desk she was seated at, eased herself out of her chair and touched her tense husband's arm lightly. Vincent, surprised at the light touch, whirled around, his blue eyes flashing.

"Vincent," Belle tilted her head to the side, "What is the matter?"

The Prince let out a great huff of irritation and pulled at his tawny hair.

"It's a madhouse out there! A complete menagerie…! Wait. What are you doing out of your chair?" Vincent's exclamations soon descended into outraged concern.

Belle rolled her eyes. She knew what was coming. Ever since Monsieur Méticule gave the Prince and his staff strict and careful instruction as to how to look after Belle and her 'precious burden', the only two words she ever heard from her husband and those that surrounded her were: '_Rest_!' and '_Eat_!'

"Belle! I thought I told you not to strain yourself!" Vincent stated firmly, taking his wife by the shoulders and steering her back towards the chair.

Belle let out a defeated sigh.

"Getting out of a chair is hardly a strain, Vincent…" she reasoned.

"Remember what the doctor said? 'No unnecessary stresses.' You have a whole castle to call upon! Why on earth would you want to get out of your chair? Now, sit," Vincent instructed as Belle plonked herself back into the chair, a look of annoyance written across her face.

"And remember…" Vincent tried to lighten his wife's exasperated mood with a smile, "If there isn't anyone in the room, you can always used this…"

The Princess pouted as her husband lifted up the little silver bell he had given to her the morning after they discovered they were having twins. He had even had her name engraved into it. Now jokingly referred to as 'Belle's Bell' by the whole of the castle, Vincent insisted that she never be without it. Belle, however, refused to use it. The idea of ringing the castle staff, who were also her friends, to attend her was, well…simply _demeaning_! Sometimes she didn't know what all the fuss was about.

Often her mind wandered back to the thoughts of what life would have been like if she had remained in her simple, provincial town.

"I am not going to use a bell if I am capable of doing some things myself!" Belle insisted, her brown eyes challenging her protective husband.

Vincent let out a frustrated sigh as he paced across the room.

"Fine!" he exclaimed tiredly, after all this fussing lately he certainly was not in the mood for an argument, "Have it your way! What did you want me here for in the first place?"

Vincent's blue gaze softened as he saw his wife hesitate, look away and blush slightly. Perhaps he should not have taken such a harsh tone with her.

"Well…" she started uncertainly, fiddling with a piece of paper, "I thought you might like to help me with…names."

"Names?"

A brief look of confusion skipped over Vincent's face.

"Yes…um, baby names."

Then the franc dropped.

"Ohhh," Vincent exhaled softly with understanding. He then stared at her stomach, a perplexed expression on his features, "But it's a bit early, isn't it?"

Belle's shoulders slumped. Being confined to inaction by everyone around her had lead the Princess to develop a case of boredom, no matter how many books she read. The summer's day was beckoning outside and she was not even allowed to take a walk in the gardens! Employing her mind to such things as names for the babies prevented her from hurling that silly bell across the room with frustration!

"Well, it was only a thought," Belle muttered distractedly, trying to disguise her hurt.

Vincent felt a pang of guilt in his heart, he honestly had not meant to upset his wife. Approaching her, he took her hand with a look of genuine interest on his face.

"No, please Belle, go on."

"It was only a silly idea," Belle laughed weakly, angry with herself that her heightened hormones were catching up with her, "I mean, your name is Vincent, my name is Belle…why do we have to wait until the day they are born to think of names for our children?"

Vincent nodded understandingly. Then a memory popped into his mind.

"Well, actually, Vincent isn't my whole name."

Belle blinked. Not his _whole_ name?

"Yes," Vincent searched back into his mind before the days where he was only known as 'Beast', "The name I was actually born with was Vincent Henri Louis Auguste Philippe Jean-Claude."

Belle's mouth all but dropped.

"_Six_ names?" she gasped.

Despite all her training in royal etiquette since her wedding day (most people could never believe she was once a peasant girl from the local town) there were some things about life as a princess Belle could never quite understand. And this was one of them. Six names? Whatever would one need six names for? Where she had come from, one name would do. Belle was Belle, Maurice was Maurice and Gaston was Gaston…well, apart from those people who liked to put the word 'Great' before his name.

"Well, yes," Vincent shrugged as if it were normal, "It is royal tradition. Everyone in my family has been born with six names."

Belle stared down at her meagre list of names, one list for girls, one list for boys, and suddenly realised she was in over her head.

"Are there any other traditions I should be aware of?" Belle asked, an eyebrow arched wryly.

Vincent pondered and scratched his chin.

"Well…all the women in my family have always had names starting with Marie. My mother's name was Marie-Louise, my aunt Marie-Charlotte and my grandmother was named Marie-Therese."

Belle's heart sank further. Her thoughts upon baby names were completely incompatible. What she had thought was a carefree task of naming her children now suddenly came weighed with responsibility and tradition…like she didn't even have a say in it at all! _Well_, Belle thought to herself, _maybe it is time to break with tradition_!

Sighing, Belle shifted her small list of names out of her husband's sight.

"Maybe all this naming business can wait until later," she suggested, trying to keep her smile bright as she heaved herself out of the chair.

Vincent's eyes widened.

"Why are you getting out of your chair? What do you need? Food? Something to drink? Another pillow? Lumiere! Mrs. Potts!"

After a day of disappointment, Belle had finally had enough.

"Vincent!" she snapped, her usually docile brown eyes now furious, "I am pregnant, not dying!"

Vincent took a few stumbling steps backwards as his wife marched up to him, her fists clenched.

"I don't want anything to eat! I don't want anything to drink! And I certainly don't want another pillow!"

Lumiere and Mrs. Potts peeked around the door and immediately winced as soon as they laid eyes upon the scene. Without a moment of hesitation, they made themselves scarce.

"All I want to do is take a walk in the gardens? Is that too much to ask? So unless you can bring the gardens to me, I am getting out of this chair!"

* * *

Rose blooms quivered and dew drops dribbled down fern fronds. A lady beetle crawled up a palm leaf. A colourful parrot squawked from where it hung in a cage.

Belle folded her arms and huffed that little piece of hair out of her eyes in irritation. She had learnt her lesson now. Never again will she challenge her husband to do something, for, more often than not, he will fulfil it.

Still seated in her chair, her feet rested upon a footstool, Vincent had succeeded in ordering the entirety of the castle to bring the gardens to Belle. Surrounding where she sat, potted rose bushes bloomed, a small palm bowed over her and a parrot was added for an exotic touch. Cogsworth had been employed to fan the Princess to simulate a cool summer's breeze.

Belle sighed as she watched Vincent beam with pride at his effort.

_Oh Vincent_, she mused, _you certainly have won this time!_

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Back again, a shorter chapter this time but the upcoming chapters will indeed be lengthier (yes, I have plenty of reading for you to do!) as the birth of Belle's twins draws nearer. So...what do you think so far? Comments, suggestions and any old random expressions are most welcome!_

_You know what to do...trundle on down to that button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	8. Huit

_**. Huit .**_

The hot summer months drew to an end and cooler autumnal weather peeked around the corner. As Belle proceeded from her six month into her seventh, she grew not to mind being waited upon so much and even used her little bell once or twice. Mostly because, once she was seated, Belle now found it virtually impossible to move out of such a position.

The weight of carrying twins made it difficult to get out of bed most mornings, leading the Princess to call upon Madame or the Prince to help her. More and more, Belle grew used to idling her days away, stacks and stacks of books always surrounding where she was seated. She had even taken to picking up embroidery again, as although it was far from her favourite activity, at least it was _something_. Mrs. Potts, Lumiere and Cogsworth made sure they were extra attentive to the Princess. If she wanted to play chess, someone would be found to accompany her. If she wanted Sultan to sit by her chair, the little dog would be fetched immediately.

Chip had taken to recounting to the Princess his outlandish stories, telling her all that was going on in the village, as if he were a talking storybook. Mrs. Potts often found herself having to drag her enthusiastic son away as soon as Belle looked a little tired. Maurice would often sit by his daughter, holding her hand as the pair conspired up amazing inventions like they had back in the old days. But more often than not, when he saw his little Belle's eyelids droop, Maurice found himself singing to her the same nursery rhymes that he used to rock her to sleep with when she was little.

Vincent, after a day fulfilling royal duties, often came home to find his wife soundly asleep, her eyes closed with a peaceful smile on her face. Sitting quietly by her, the Prince loved to take in her gentle beauty, her face bathed by the firelight. Softly placing a hand on her round, bulging belly, he would wait for a moment. And then, he would feel a kick.

* * *

Upon entering her eighth month, Belle faced what seemed like the longest wait in her entire life. The weeks practically crawled by.

Every morning, Mrs. Potts had a habit of chirping:

"Any day now, dear!"

And indeed, Belle wished her children would arrive any day. In fact, she wished they would arrive _right now_. Being unable to move for months on end with limited activities had worn the Princess' patience thin, despite having the whole castle at her disposal. It was almost as if her own body was imprisoning her in the castle once again. Often frustrated, but more than likely tired and sore (the twins had become increasingly active over the past weeks, often keeping her up to all hours at night) Belle wished that the babies would just _arrive_ so that she could have her body to herself again!

Vincent was becoming increasingly disturbed by his usually patient wife's development of a slight temper and a general lack of enthusiasm in most of her activities. She seemed tired with everything, often preferring to sleep than to talk to him about the village…

"What would I know about the village? I have not seen it for five months!"

Or the babies…

"Oh please, don't remind me!"

Or anything in general, really…

"Vincent, please…I just need a little nap."

With the fact that Belle's favourite activity was now sleeping, Vincent found himself growing rather bored as the weeks passed. He wished these babies would hurry up and just be born! Of course, he was impatient to meet them, but he also wanted his wife back. His vivacious, clever and witty wife, who never had a bad thing to say, and always wanted to see what was happening in the world...

"Ouch."

All eyes turned to Belle as she shifted uncomfortably one evening by the fireplace. As the time drew nearer, no longer weeks until she was due, but _days_, the entire castle seemed to be holding its breath. Belle looked up and saw the panicked faces the surrounded her. She knew what they were thinking.

"One of the babies kicked a little too hard," she explained tiredly, rubbing the spot on her ballooned stomach that ached.

She heard everyone exhale. Vincent let out a little growl of annoyance.

"Oh! Why don't these babies just hurry up already?" he pulled at his hair as he collapsed into the chaise opposite his immobile wife.

Mrs. Potts shook her head and tutted as she served the royal pair more tea.

"Now, now Master, these things take time. You cannot hurry up nature!"

"I would if I could," Vincent grumbled.

He and Belle let out simultaneous heavy sighs. Everyone, including themselves, would just have to wait.

The clock ticked as the evening wore on. Belle quietly devoured her book whilst Vincent busied himself with signing royal decrees, declarations and agreements. Maurice was the first to fall asleep in the warm drawing room, which was usual. Vincent too, despite his efforts to keep his eyes open, found himself nodding off. Shortly afterwards, Belle found herself in a light doze. But her dozes never lasted long, for sooner or later, a baby would move or kick in a place that would cause the Princess to grimace in pain and she found herself wide awake.

"Oh…" Belle rubbed her swollen belly wearily, "Will you please just go to sleep?"

The children within her only responded by kicking wildly, certainly in no mood to nap. Belle groaned. She would be awake for some time now.

The clock ticking close to eleven at night, Belle noticed that her father and husband were both soundly, and snoringly, asleep. Bored, and not willing to call upon any of her friends for company, Belle decided to take matters into her own hands. Her face brightened as an idea struck her. Looking down upon her stomach, she smiled.

"Come on babies, now that Papa is asleep, let's go for a wander."

Throwing aside the blanket that covered her knees, Belle suddenly came to the very tricky situation of getting herself out of the chair. She heaved once. She heaved twice. Upon the third time, she managed to come unstuck, wobbling precariously on legs she had not properly used, or seen, for months. As she steadied her balance, Belle snatched a shawl to cover the nightgown she was only dressed in, quietly shuffling out of the room.

In the silence of the castle, Belle suddenly realised how much the floorboards squeaked. Finding a candelabrum still aflame, Belle made her way in the lonely, dark halls, stopping occasionally to catch her breath or stretch her back. Now properly upright, the Princess observed how truly big she had grown. She felt like she no longer had feet, instead looking like she had swallowed the globe that lived in Vincent's study. Furrowing her brows with determination, Belle crept down the halls, coming to the grand staircase.

Her eyes trailing up the stairs, Belle felt her heart sink. She couldn't possibly manage all of those! But then a baby gave a little stir, as if to remind her they were still there, and she decided to press on. Holding onto the banister tightly, Belle managed the first stair, then the second, heaving herself up the never-ending staircase, the candelabrum aloft and illuminating the way. Panting, but triumphant, Belle glowed as she made her way upon the landing, tip-toeing along to the furthest gallery. A part of the castle Vincent had never denied her, but had never entirely approved of her spending her time in. The gallery where his family portraits were hung.

Belle winced as the door groaned loudly upon opening. She looked around warily before venturing in. Lifting the candles up near the walls, her expression lightened as she spied what she had come to find.

"Look at that, babies," she whispered to her stomach, "There's your Papa."

Her eyes trailed over the oil painting of a young Vincent, the haughty monarch staring blankly out of the portrait with his piercing blue eyes. Everything about him, from his stiff posture to the way he lifted his chin, portrayed a young, impetuous prince who would not take 'no' for an answer. A prince doomed to be cursed.

Sidling along to the next portrait, Belle's smile grew. There, in the painting, was a gentle-eyed woman and a regal looking man, a baby with reddish-brown curls and bright blue eyes staring curiously out of the picture.

"And there's your Papa as a baby," Belle continued. She squinted to read the engraved plaque on the gilt fame, "And they were your grandparents, King Alexandre and Queen Marie-Louise."

Belle stared down the great length of hall. There were many, many more portraits to go. The Princess, who had only known her father as her immediate family, could not fathom how long Vincent's lineage went back.

* * *

Back in the downstairs drawing room, Prince Vincent snorted awake. Something was not right. His blue eyes immediately falling to where he wife should be, Vincent felt his heart leap as he noticed the chair was empty.

"Belle…?" he croaked, sitting up and holding his head. Not a sign of her. His voice grew urgent, "Belle!"

Pulling on his boots, Vincent cursed himself for falling asleep. Yanking open the door, he glanced down the hall either way. Not a trace of Belle. Snatching up the nearest candelabrum, he scoured the dark castle.

Where could she be? Perhaps she wanted another book? Vincent tried the library. No Belle. Perhaps she had midnight cravings again? His wife was not in the kitchen. Perhaps she wanted a more comfortable place to sleep? Their bedroom was echoingly empty.

Stumbling upon the base of the grand staircase, frustrated and more than a little panicked, Vincent came very close to hollering out her name and calling upon all the castle staff to find her…when he heard a soft voice floating down from up the stairs.

Vincent raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. How could she have managed all those stairs? Leaping up the stairs, he slowed his pace as the doors in the labyrinthine castle passed. He sighed as he found one left ajar, the one where Belle's voice was coming from. Of course, the portrait gallery! Vincent hadn't been keen for his wife to explore that area of the castle, although he never expressly forbid her (the last time he did that, she defied his orders regardless). But there was something that disturbed him about staring at the pictures of his family, family that no longer surrounded him, for he was the only one of his line left. A family he had almost entirely forgotten about when he was the Beast.

Softly pushing open the door, he saw his wife, upright for the first time in months, gently rubbing her belly and speaking to what lived inside of her.

"Oh, look at that!" she remarked of a Renaissance couple bedecked in starched ruffs, "Don't they look _serious_! Someone should really tell them to smile a little!"

Vincent leaned upon the doorframe, smirking. His great-great-great grandparents King Jean-Paul and Queen Mathilde were known by family legacy not to have been the jolliest of people, and it seemed like that sour portrait summed up their character entirely.

Quietly, the Prince stepped into the room.

"Belle…?" Vincent whispered softly.

Belle jumped and gasped, whirling around, her hair falling loose around her face.

"Oh Belle! You had me so worried! Why did you disappear like that?" Vincent approached gently, his expression visibly relieved.

Belle tilted her head to the side, a warm smile on her mouth.

"Vincent, really, I am fi-"

Belle was unable to finish her sentence as she felt the strangest shiver down her spine. Her eyes widened as something wet trickled down the inside of her leg. And then suddenly…

"Oh!" Belle gasped with discomfort and clutched her stomach as a throbbing wave of pain hit her.

Vincent rushed to his wife's side as her face paled, her big brown eyes looking up at him, a mixture of excitement, absolute fear and questioning in them. Despite all that he probably did not know about babies (that was women's matters, after all) the Prince didn't need to be told twice what was happening.

"Mrs. Potts! Cogsworth! Lumiere!" he roared out upon the landing, "Get the physician!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Oh, the excitement! Oh, the cliffhanger! Yes, we all know what is going to happen so...leave me a review! To those who have reviewed, you're awesome and keep up the great work!_

_I'll have the following chapter up shortly, probably in time for some good week-end reading._

_Traipse on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	9. Neuf

_**. Neuf .**_

In the little village that lived down the hill, there was a belief that if someone had to be interrupted in the middle of the night, it had better be for something of importance.

Like, for instance, if their house was burning down. Or if someone had passed away. Or if a Beast needed to be hunted. Or, most importantly, if a baby was being born.

Such was the case when Monsieur Méticule heard the knock upon his door, grumpily stumbling out of bed in his nightshirt and night cap, only to lay eyes on an urgent Lumiere. The physician did not need to be told twice what was happening.

Throwing his black frock coat on haphazardly and grabbing his bag full of medical instruments that he always kept at the ready, Méticule was out the door in moments. Lumiere's skittish horse pranced excitedly, whinnying loudly as the doctor clambered on, disturbing the neighbours. A pair of shutters flew open from a nearby window, a bearded face with tired eyes glaring out at whoever was causing such a ruckus.

"_Mon Dieu_!" the man declared, "Keep the noise down!"

But neither Lumiere nor Méticule heard the villager's demands as they were well off into the night at full gallop. The neighbour shut the window with a bang, shuffling back to bed.

"What's going on, my dear?" his wife yawned from under the covers.

"Oh I don't know," the man growled, "Someone from the castle was after that pompous doctor. They were off in a hurry but they made a bloody lot of noise about it!"

"The castle!" his wife suddenly sat up from where she was sleeping, her lace mob cap falling over her eyes, "That must mean a royal baby is being born!"

* * *

If Prince Vincent paced anymore by the fireplace, Cogsworth would become concerned for the welfare of the carpet. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the hurried, urgent pacing of the monarch was enough to make his butler nauseous! But Vincent strode on, his expression stern, hands clenched behind his back as he continued to pace, occasionally stealing looks towards the double doors where Belle was being attended to.

The antechamber before the master bedroom was once again tense with anxiety. Nervousness hung thick in the air. Maurice rubbed his hands constantly, occasionally muttering to himself. Lumiere picked bits of lint off of his cravat but kept his eyes firmly on the imposing doors. Cogsworth hadn't quite decided whether to swoon or not.

Mrs. Potts, Madame and Babette were inside the bedroom attending to the Princess along with Monsieur Méticule. Well over an hour had passed since Vincent's panicked cries, Belle being rushed into the bedroom and the physician hurried into the castle and still, there was no news. Once or twice the doors would open and everyone in the antechamber would leap forwards…only to be barrelled over by Mrs. Potts in search of a pile of linen or a pot of warm water.

The whole castle held its breath.

The clock ticked wearily onwards. The doors remaining firmly shut. At times Vincent pressed his ear up against the double doors, desperately listening for any sounds at all to know that his wife was all right. But the doors were too thick and what he could peek through the keyhole…well, it wasn't much.

"Why is this taking so long?!" Vincent barked as the fourth hour passed, everyone surrounding him barely able to keep their eyes open in the early hours of the morning.

Maurice sighed.

"Babies take their time. It is going to be hours yet, sometimes even days," the old man remembered the prolonged and difficult labour his wife had when bringing Belle into this world, an experience that ultimately cost her life.

Vexed with the world, Prince Vincent grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the room, his expression a mixture of pure fear and aggravation. Lumiere sidled up to him.

"You're Highness," the lanky valet spoke calmly, laying a hand on the Prince's shoulder and settling him into a seat, "This might help loosen up your nerves."

Vincent eyed off a glass of port, taking it and downing it in one gulp.

"Thank you Lumiere."

But the drink did nothing to help.

The night wore on, as some, like Maurice, fell asleep. Vincent jumped at every little noise that came from inside, whether it was a gasp, a groan or a whimper. As the night sky lightened, the sun touching the horizon as dawn approached, Lumiere and Cogsworth took turns snoozing at the doorframe.

It was as the sun barely peeked over the horizon that the small gathering in the antechamber heard Belle's first real cry. Vincent jumped from his seat upon hearing his wife's choked half-cry, half-sob, his expression stricken.

"Belle! She's in pain! She needs me!" he tried to barge down the doors, only to find them locked from the inside.

Lumiere snuffled awake and Cogsworth took to calming the Prince.

"Well what do you expect, You're Highness? This business of having babies isn't all happiness and rainbows!"

* * *

Inside the master bedroom, after hours of waiting, Belle let out her first real cry as the pain became too much to bear. Mrs. Potts was at her side, holding her hand and dabbing her sweating forehead with a damp cloth as Babette and Madame were stationed on the other side of the bed, assisting Monsieur Méticule.

She cried out, grasping at the bed sheets as she sat up, loose strands of brown hair sticking to her forehead as her face twisted with agony. Belle let out a defeated sob, falling back into the embrace of Mrs. Potts.

"Oh I can't Mrs. Potts!" Belle lamented, gasping heavily as the pain subsided, "It hurts too much! It hurts too much!"

Mrs. Potts, her face a picture of worry for the Princess, couldn't help but shake her head at the girl's naïveté.

"Oh poppycock Belle! Did you ever think having babies was going to be easy? Now, it's going to hurt, but you have to be strong, dear! That's right, it'll be over in no time."

Gasping and whimpering, Belle squeezed Mrs. Potts' hand as she felt another rush of pain, this one quicker and sharper, hit her.

* * *

Vincent grew increasingly frantic as Belle's cries became more regular and more exhausted. The idea that his Belle was in pain terrified him to no end, but the very idea that he had a part to play in causing her so much agony simply horrified him.

"Can you not hear her?!" he shouted at his servants, "She needs me!"

The Prince tried the doors again only to be dragged away by both Cogsworth and Lumiere.

"_Mon ami_, I say we tie him to the chair," Lumiere muttered out of the side of his mouth as they forced Vincent as far away from the doors as possible. Cogsworth nodded.

"I couldn't agree with you more!"

* * *

The hours drew on, sunlight creeping under the curtains, as Belle's cries, whimpers, gasps and sobs became more laboured and more exhausted. Madame, Babette and Méticule exchanged worried looks. To have the Princess tire out now, when she was so very close to making those final pushes, would be disastrous. Mrs. Potts kept up the encouragement.

"Now, now Belle, don't be silly! You're almost there now, just a few more big pushes!"

"Oh I can't!" Belle wheezed, barely able to even speak, "I'm…so…tired…"

"Now that's nonsense girl, you know it! Come on now, up you get, one more big push!"

Belle struggled to prop herself up onto the pillows, barely able to see over her own stomach. Her face crinkled as the next pain hit and she tried with all her might.

"That's it!" Mrs. Potts exclaimed.

"I see a head!" Monsieur Méticule declared, "And what a head of hair this one has got!"

"Come on now Belle, you're almost there!" Mrs. Potts squeezed the Princess' hand excitedly.

After a cry that could be heard throughout the entire castle, Belle collapsed back onto the pillows as the first of her children made its way into the hands on Méticule.

But instead of jubilation on the other side of the bed as Princess Belle gave birth to the first of her twins, Madame, Babette and Monsieur Méticule all let out a horrified gasp. There was silence.

"_Mon Dieu_." Méticule whispered.

Mrs. Potts looked over with alarm at the white faces on the other side of Belle. The Princess, drained and feeble, tried to struggle upwards to see what the cause of all the shock was.

"What…what's the matter?" she whispered.

But Belle did not get to see her firstborn as Madame whipped it away from Méticule and out of Belle's line of sight, bundling it up in clean white swaddling.

"Never you mind, dear!" Mrs Potts carried on, pushing Belle back into the pillows, "You still have one more baby to be born! That's right now! One…two…three…!"

* * *

As Belle's final cries subsided, two very different cries joined the chorus of noise that had been coming from the master bedroom. Two…babies' cries.

Vincent burst upwards from where Lumiere and Cogsworth had been restraining him.

"Do you hear that?!" he cupped his ear, "Did you hear that!? My children! They're my children!"

But it was not for a long while that the doors were opened. The wait to see his children felt doubly as long as the hours upon hours of Belle's labour. And when the doors finally unlocked and opened, it was done with no ceremony. Madame and Babette made a hasty exit with the used linen, Belle's nightgown and a chamber pot full of things the men in the antechamber didn't want to think about.

Méticule and Mrs. Potts followed, shuffling out in sombre silence. Their faces, both very white, had a look of despair written across them. Méticule looked shocked to the bone, the good doctor muttering gibberish under his breath. The usually chatty Mrs. Potts didn't say a word.

"You can see her now, You're Highness," Mrs. Potts finally spoke, her tone uneasy.

Prince Vincent disregarded the pair's strange behaviour, striding into the bedroom where his wife and children were, closing the door behind him. There, in the grand four poster bed, lay Belle against the pillows, her cheeks flushed, her forehead still sticky with sweat and tired look about her eyes. Mrs. Potts had attempted to sweep her hair up neatly from where it had come loose, and despite her exhaustion, Vincent could not help but marvel at how radiant she looked.

But it was what lay in her arms that made the Prince's smile widen. Two little bundles, one cradled in each arm, rested close upon Belle where she lay propped up on the pillows. The bundle in her right arm was wrapped in a pink blanket, the one in her left wrapped in a blue blanket. They both faced Belle as she held them protectively, as if guarding them against the world.

Vincent quietly approached. Belle didn't even look up, too busy gazing at her children.

"Oh Belle…" he whispered, "Oh Belle…thank goodness you are all right!"

Vincent came to her side, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Belle closed her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. A sigh that should have been of relief, but instead sounded tinged with sadness.

Vincent took a step back, anxious to meet his children. Belle opened her big, brown eyes, slowly lifting them to meet his blue gaze. Vincent's eyebrows furrowed. Her expression looked almost…_pleading_.

"Oh Vincent..." Belle breathed, a single tear trickling down her cheek.

Vincent almost asked what was wrong when he looked down, taking, for the first time, a look at the children she had brought into the world.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Oh dear, what could the matter be? Well, I guess you will just have to wait and find out! Drop me a review to tell me what you think...or vent your frustration at two cliffhangers in a row!_

_So, we have now reached what all the build up was for...you will just have to stay tuned for what is next!_

_Race on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._

* * *


	10. Dix

_**. Dix .**_

Oh, there was no doubt that they were his children.

Belle let out a sigh, lowering his head and trying to manage a loving smile towards the two infants in her arms. Gently, she let them shift in her arms away from where she had them nestled protectively so her husband could take a better look. She lifted her gaze again, biting her lower lip. Anguish was written across her features. Anguish and begging.

"Oh Vincent…" she whispered, her voice quavering with a sob, "Please understand…"

Vincent let his blue gaze drop to the swaddled children in her arms. A wheezing gasp escaped his mouth. He stumbled backwards a few steps out of horror. It felt like someone had crept up behind and severely winded him.

"_No_…" he breathed, the colour drained from his face, "No! It can't be…!"

Belle nodded slowly to confirm his horror, sniffing in an attempt to control her tears.

"No!" Vincent continued, holding his head as, for a moment, the room began to spin, "It is not possible! How is it _possible_?!"

Belle let out a stifled sob in response, having no answer to her husband's questions.

Holding his head, Vincent turned away from the scene that presented itself on the bed. Shuddering gasps coursed through his body. Rubbing his eyes, he convinced himself he must be seeing things. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, he winced and shuddered. This was no hallucination.

"Vincent…please understand…" Belle begged once more.

She steadied herself with a deep breath.

"Please understand that they are still our children."

Belle's words hit a nerve within Vincent. And not just any nerve. A nerve that caused every vertebra in his spine to straighten. Every muscle in his body to stiffen with rage, fear and grief at the unfairness at it all. Belle watched warily as she saw her husband tense, his broad shoulders shaking and his fists clenched.

"_No_…" his growl was so low she almost didn't hear it, "They are _not_ my children."

Belle swallowed, her eyes watering. It had felt like he had slapped her.

"How can you say such a thing…?" she whispered desperately.

Vincent let out an angry sigh through his teeth, whirling around to his wife and what lay in her arms.

"They are _not_ my children!" he repeated, a little louder, "They are…simply…_monsters_!"

He spat the word as if it burned his tongue.

Monsters. Freaks. Inhuman. Animals…

_Beasts_.

For what Belle cradled in her arms were not human babies. Not the human babies everyone in the castle had been expecting.

The children Belle had brought into the world did not have soft pink skin with little fingers and little toes. No, the little beings that wriggled in her arms were covered in hair. And not just any hair. _Fur_ that was befit of a beast. The little boy that was wrapped in a blue blanket had fur of a chocolate colouring reminiscent of Belle's own locks. The little girl was tawny, like her father.

Half-human, half-beast, their characteristics were a strange mixture of both. For they had the cherubic faces of babies, round and plump, but the ears of animals. Their little son reached out to his mother, instead of their being a hand…it was a paw. Covered completely in soft, thick fur, the little girl kicked, her foot coming loose from the swaddling. It was not a paw, but a human foot. One of them yawned, revealing a gummy smile. Would they grow teeth…or fangs?

Their daughter shifted, making a little noise like all babies make. She opened her eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes that were achingly human.

Princess Belle had given birth to a pair of beasts.

"How can you say that they are not our children, Vincent?" Belle asked, softly and lovingly tucking her daughter's foot back into the swaddling and rocking her gently, "They are just like you and me."

Vincent could not believe what he was hearing. He scoffed.

"Oh yes! Just like you and me, Belle!" he demanded, "_Look_ at them! How are we going to present them to the rest of France? Do you honestly think everyone else will understand?"

Belle swallowed and looked away, close to fresh tears.

"You saw through me as the Beast, Belle. Only you did! But I remember when you first laid eyes on me: you were horrified, repulsed, _disgusted_! They are not children, Belle! They are animals! They will be shunned by society, they only have a future as recluses, just like I was. There is _no_ hope for them."

Belle flinched from his words, tears escaping. She balanced precariously on breaking down, but instead, she looked up defiantly at her mortified husband, her brown eyes fierce as she held her children tightly.

"But they are still my children, Vincent! They are our children and I love them!"

Vincent shook his head, another growl escaping his throat.

"They are not _our_ children," he responded sharply, "I cannot stand to look at them!"

"Vincent!" Belle cried out as she saw her husband turn away and storm out of the bedroom.

The doors slammed with a resounding bang. In the silence of the bedroom, only Belle's sobs remained.

Lumiere and Cogsworth backed away in the antechamber as Prince Vincent charged through, yanking doors open and slamming them so his furious progression through the silent castle could be heard by everyone.

Cogsworth looked up from where he was tried to rouse a fainted Monsieur Méticule.

"Where do you think he is going?" he asked the sombre valet.

Lumiere let out a heavy, knowing sigh.

"Where else? To the West Wing."

* * *

Belle wiped the tears away from her eyes as a silent Mrs. Potts soothed the distraught Princess. Her children had been placed in bassinets by the bed, tucked in as they slept soundly. Mrs. Potts paused, unable to help the gentle smile that reached her mouth.

Oh yes, Belle's children had been shocking at first, but when you looked at them, _really_ looked at them, you came to the realisation that they were only babies. Innocent little babies who were unaware of the ill choice of cards Fate had dealt them. Little children that did not understand, simply by their appearance, how they will be shunned and rejected by the wider world. But they were babies that were no less worthy of loving.

Mrs. Potts bent down, softly stroking the head of Belle's son. His downy fur felt so soft, like a little bear.

Both Belle and Mrs. Potts glanced up as the door to the bedroom creaked open. Belle's brown eyes looked slightly hopeful, for, with the passing hour, she had hoped that every creak outside her bedroom would be Vincent making his return to see his children. Her shoulders slumped a little with disappointment as Maurice shuffled in, but she was no less grateful.

"Oh…my little girl," Maurice whispered tenderly, coming over to his heartbroken daughter and taking her hand. He stroked her forehead like her used to when she was young, kissing her there.

"Oh Papa," Belle sniffled as she curled into his embrace, her head rested up against his chest, "Oh Papa, what am I going to do?"

Maurice sighed as he stroked his fingers through his daughter's hair. He looked over at the bassinets as one of the children made a small squeak. Belle's father's eyes widened as he laid eyes on what his daughter had brought into the world. Oh yes, Mrs. Potts had told him the news…but he wasn't quite expecting…_this_. His shock ebbed away quickly as he heard the whimpering child cry, Mrs. Potts scooping it up into an embrace.

"Shh, shh," the matron soothed, rocking the little boy back and forth, "Hush now dear…"

Maurice smiled. Beasts or not, they were still his grandchildren. He turned back to his daughter, her body exhausted both physically and emotionally, lifting her chin.

"You are my brave and clever daughter, Belle. There will be a way."

Belle sniffed and gave him a watery smile.

"Vincent does not want to see them," she whispered mournfully, "He says…he says they have no hope. He…he cannot even look at them, Papa!"

Maurice's heart felt heavy when he heard these words. Mrs. Potts tutted in the background. After all his daughter had given that Prince: handing herself to him as his prisoner, showing patience towards him, showing him how to love before she fell in love with him herself, Maurice expected Prince Vincent to show, well, a little more…courage.

"He will come round, my girl. Don't you worry," her Papa reassured.

Belle shook her head, defeated.

"I don't think so this time, Papa. He does not even want to name them. I don't think they will ever be named," she cast her gaze to her nameless son and daughter, settled and sleeping.

"Oh pish-posh!" Mrs. Potts interrupted from where she was folding baby linen, "That's nonsense child! Well, if the Master does not want to help name them, then it is up to you!"

"Me…?" Belle asked uncertainly.

"Yes! You! The Master is obviously off too busy being a coward! These poor little dears cannot go on without being named! It simply isn't done for a Prince and Princess!"

Mrs. Potts' words startled Belle. She had not even thought of people considering her fur-covered children as a 'Prince' or 'Princess.' In her husband's eyes, they were monstrous, not even worthy being looked at, let alone royal titles. A small smile lifted at the corners of Belle's mouth, Mrs. Potts' words stirring warmth in her heart.

"Thank you Mrs. Potts, I think I shall."

Belle looked down lovingly as her sleeping son was carefully placed in her arms. She looked up at her moustached father.

"Papa, will you help me name them?" she asked, uncertain if she could bear the responsibility all on her own.

"Belle, my dear, it would be an honour."

Tears welled up in the man's crinkled eyes.

Her little son stirred, opening his mouth wide in a yawn and letting out a little sleepy growl before settling back down. Maurice chuckled softly.

"He looks like a little lion, that one."

Belle smiled, stroking her son's chocolate fur. She thought on her father's words.

"Léon…" she whispered, "He looks like a Léon, doesn't he Papa?"

Maurice smiled.

"Indeed he does."

Mrs. Potts joined the pair, smiling fondly.

"He will be big and strong that one, just you wait. He looks like a prince that will be full of courage," she observed, her tone sharper towards the end as she thought upon a current monarch who had no, or very little, courage at this moment.

Mrs. Potts took little Léon, an extremely sound sleeper, from his mother and placed him back in the lined bassinet. The second child, the daughter, stirred and made a little whimper as the matron picked her up and gave her to Belle. A lighter sleeper, the child opened her blue eyes blearily as to who had disturbed her.

"My little girl…" Belle whispered tenderly as she stroked her tawny fur. Yes, her daughter certainly had Vincent's colouring, "My precious daughter."

The little child reached up a paw, catching onto Belle's pinkie. The Princess laughed softly.

"She's a bright spark, that one. Just like her mother," Mrs. Potts observed.

The female child stared wondrously at Belle's finger, trying to figure it out.

"She's going to be a bit of a dreamer too," Maurice added softly, "That was what you always used to do when you were a baby."

Belle caught her father's gaze, her eyes watering.

"Sybille," she lifted her daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Her name will be Sybille."

Sybille made a little noise of contentment, as if happy with the name choice, and settled back to sleep. Mrs. Potts gently took her from the tired Belle.

"Now dear," the stout woman whispered as she saw Belle's eyelids droop, "You have not had any sleep. It has been a big day now, you need your rest."

Belle nodded wearily, settling back into the pillow. Her cheeks still flushed from tears, she let her heavy eyelids blink a few times before they finally closed. Mrs. Potts and Maurice both drew up a corner each of the bed covers, making sure the Princess was tucked in nicely.

"Sleep well my girl," Maurice whispered lovingly.

"May the morning be better for you," Mrs. Potts added sorrowfully, stealing one last look at the trio before gently closing the door.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** An early post for you all as I'm going to be away for a week or so battling with three archaeology essays (meaning I have to be 'productive' with my Internet use...in other words, researching). Thank you to all those who reviewed, you pretty much figured it out...but there's a lot more to go from here! This chapter is essentially the turning point of the story._

_For those who are wondering about Vincent's reaction and the reason why the twins are cursed, all will be answered in the next chapter which I promise I'll have up as soon as possible!_

_On a note of clarification, just in case anyone didn't get it whilst reading the chapter: Belle and Vincent's twins are fraternal (ie. not identical) hence, their daughter, Sybille, has Vincent's coppery/gold/light brown colouring of her fur and Léon is Belle's darker brown. They both have blue eyes. I hope that helps in visualising the twins, I would put artwork up but right now I'm in the middle of uni semester and simply don't have time! Perhaps at a later date when I get round to it, I'll let you know._

_Anyway, enough of my rambling. Enjoy and scoot on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	11. Onze

_**. Onze .**_

Night fell and the countryside was awash with the light of a full moon. Whilst the Princess and her newborns slept, there was one member of the family who was not asleep.

The great glass doors opening onto the balcony that looked out from the West Wing had been thrown open, curtains fluttering with the cool night breeze. Throughout the room there was a trail of destruction. A vase was shattered on the floor, a curtain had been yanked so roughly it had torn, a chair had toppled over when shoved aside. Heaving gasps came from outside the balcony door. Gasps and sobs belonging to Prince Vincent, who was perched on the slate roof where he had spent many a time as the Beast howling at the moon.

The moonlight reflected off his strong features. Vincent swiped bitterly at the tears that trickled down his cheeks, growling and huffing at his own weakness. His tawny locks had fallen out from their ribbon, his hair shadowing over his face. His blue eyes flashed as he rubbed them wearily. Stormy and troubled, his eyes reflecting the conflicting riot of emotions that barraged his exhausted body.

First, there had been shock. His blue eyes were still deceiving his mind, trying to convince him that what he had witnessed was not what he had truly seen. His two children, the children he had spent months waiting for, so impatient to hold them and welcome them to the world with their little mops of hair, tiny fingers and soft baby skin were…covered in fur. Covered in fur with the ears and paws of animals, but the feet and eyes of people. They simply were not human, and he could not believe that he had a part in making them.

As the fur, the paws and the ears sank in, Vincent was barraged with visions of himself as he had been…not as the Prince, but as the Beast. A great hulking monster with claws and fangs, a truly horrifying sight that caused him to smash every mirror in the castle. But then the image of himself in his beastly form was replaced by a vision of his children facing a similar fate: shaggy, over-sized creatures dwarfing their human parents, locked away from a world that would be repulsed and fearful of them. A fate they were condemned to from birth with absolutely no choice in the matter like he had had, no opportunity to be something other than hideous and frightening.

The unfairness of it all stirred anger within him, a rage he had not felt since the days following the curse the Enchantress had put upon him all those years ago. The curse had been broken! The last petal had fallen and Belle's love for him had endured! His children should have been a continuation of his happiness, a chance to put behind him the memory of those dark, lonely and frightening years as the Beast and live the birthright he had been given: as a Prince, as a husband and as a father. But the mere sight of the things in his wife's arms disgusted him, reminding him of what he had once been and sending chills up his spine that the Enchantress was not yet done with her curse, not yet done with punishing him until his spirit was broken.

Rubbing his eyes with the flat of his palm, Vincent let out a growl that rumbled to a shout towards the ever-staring moon. He needed air, he needed to pace, he needed…this all to be just one hellish dream. Jumping down from where he had perched on the slate of the castle rooftop, Vincent stormed through the castle, knocking over anything in his way and kicking open doors. The castle was mercifully silent and deserted at this time of night, but the monarch knew that those servants who were still up knew better than to encounter him.

Slamming open the doors to the garden, a sharp gust of autumnal air blew his coppery-brown hair across his tortured features. Pot plants were knocked over as he fumed, wanting something- anything- to take out his rage upon. Just as he paced past a pool with floating lily-pads…something caught his eye.

The Prince halted suddenly, returning to the castle pond. The moonlight reflected silver off the tranquil water, the water-feature had not been in use since summer and lily-pads without blooms floated idly. Prince Vincent ventured up to the water, curious as to what had glinted out of the corner of his eye. But the sight that met his eyes made his stomach curdle in fear and his whole body freeze completely. For, the reflection that greeted him in the water was not that of Prince Vincent…but of the Beast.

Instead of the tawny hair of a monarch and smooth features, the image that looked back at him in the undisturbed pond was one twice his size, a hunched over Beast with his thick fur, tattered cape and jutting fangs.

"No…!" Vincent whispered, the sound of his own voice echoed by the beastly baritone of his reflection.

Stumbling backwards out of sheer horror, the Prince immediately looked to his hands. He exhaled. They were still human hands, with human fingers and smooth skin bathed white in the moonlight.

Prince Vincent swallowed, hesitantly, step by step, returning to the pond. As he peeked into the water, so did the Beast look back at him, mirroring his every move. Vincent's eyes widened with disbelief, and so did the Beast's, their blue eyes identical. Vincent lifted a hand to touch his face. The Beast in the water lifted a paw to do the same.

"This cannot be…" the Prince whispered, his every word followed by the lower tones of the Beast's voice.

"This is impossible!" Vincent suddenly shouted, the Beast's voice joining his angry words in a louder roar.

"I'm not…" the Prince and the Beast's voices became shaky as Vincent gingerly reached down to the water, the Beast in the reflection reaching up at him. His fingers barely touched the water when he pulled away suddenly, unnerved and terrified.

"This is a dream," a pair of voices rose into the quiet night sky.

Vincent was about to close his eyes, shake his head and try to convince himself that it was all just a case of a very, very bad dream…when something shimmered in the water besides the Beast's reflection. The water swirled gold, glittering and gleaming as Vincent and the Beast's mouths fell open with surprise. As the shimmering disappeared, a vision of a beautiful woman emerged in the pool. A radiant beauty, her long blonde waves framing her flawless face, sultry eyes and lush lips. A face that had been imprinted upon his mind since that fateful night at the castle door...

The Enchantress.

A smile curled on her lips, her ageless eyes staring straight through the Prince and chilling him to the bone.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Vincent and his beastly counterpart in the water demanded of the shining apparition.

The Enchantress' smile widened.

"You still need to learn your lesson, young Prince," her voice sang.

"But I have already learned my lesson!" he cried with exasperation, "I spent seven years as that hideous Beast, alone and ruined! I learned to love, and Belle learned to love me! The curse is _broken_…!"

The Enchantress only smiled back serenely, her gaze knowing so much but her mouth saying so little.

"It _has_ to be broken…" Vincent whispered falteringly, the Beast's voice echoing after his, "I am a reformed man…"

The Enchantress' laughter rang out like a silver bell in the crisp night air.

"Oh Vincent…" she sighed airily, every syllable of her voice light and dainty, but the meaning behind it quite the opposite, "Improved you may be, but you are not quite _reformed_. The spell was broken with the last of the rose petals by your _wife_, not yourself. She learned to love you as the Beast and see beyond your appearance. But you? Would _you_ have chosen to marry her if you were still the Beast? Would _you_ have thought of having children with her if you were still the Beast?"

This startled Vincent. He had never even thought of such a thing. Granted, he was keenly aware that it was the Beast Belle had fallen in love with, not Prince Vincent in those first few months after the transformation…but soon Belle was as natural around him in human form as she had been with his fur and fangs. Would he have proposed to her if he were still the Great Beast? Would he even have _considered_ children a possibility? Or was he, deep down, still ashamed of how his beastliness contrasted against her docile beauty? Of how different they were, being practically two separate species?

"I thought not..." the Enchantress' voice read his thoughts, "You are an improved person, Vincent. You are no longer as arrogant and selfish as you were, you have realised that vanity is not something to be proud of. That girl taught you more in several months then what you endured under the curse for many years. She taught you patience, she taught you kindness, she taught you generosity. But if it were not for her, where would you be today…?"

_Still a Beast_, Vincent thought.

"You are still afraid to look beyond appearances, Vincent. It still troubles you, to be reminded of the Beast. That is why you want everything to be perfect. You cannot bear things to be ugly or out of order. You wanted the perfect wedding, the perfect castle…the perfect children…"

Vincent shuddered at this last remark.

"Now it is time for you to learn what Belle did. You have humbled yourself, young Prince, but you still flinch at unattractiveness. You must learn to look beyond appearances, to see your children as they really are. You need to learn a true parent's love, Vincent."

Prince Vincent, shaken and disturbed by the voice coming from the garden pool, still managed to find his voice:

"But I do love them!" he retaliated weakly, his words breaking at the edge of sobs.

"If you truly love them, then why can you not look at them?" the Enchantress replied, her the truth hitting him hard. Her voice started to fade as she spoke, "Why did you leave them when they needed you most…?"

Vincent's heart started racing as he heard the Enchantress' voice fade to a soft, airy whisper, the pool he was staring into start to swirl and ripple.

"No! Wait!" he shouted, "Come back, this is not fair!"

"You need to love them…" the Enchantress' voice hung in the air as the rippling water of the pool started to settle.

"Come back! This isn't fair!" Vincent was on the verge of shouting himself hoarse, gripping onto the edge of the pond.

The water settled, smooth and untouched. Vincent stared into the still water below. The Beast's reflection had disappeared with the fading of the Enchantress, the image of a distraught Prince staring up at him. A single tear dripped from Vincent's cheek, falling into the water and sending out ripples quivering the reflection of the moon.

"This is not fair…" the Prince sobbed, "This is not fair…!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I'm back, the procrastination side got the better of me when it comes to my assignments and I figured you all needed an explanation for what exactly is going on! Let me know what you think, I'll try and get Chapter 12 up as soon as possible._

_Skedaddle on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	12. Douze

_**. Douze .**_

"I am sorry messieurs, but I cannot accept!"

"_Zut alors_!"

"Please Monsieur Méticule! We are begging you!"

Monsieur Méticule, now fully recovered from the shock he had endured since the birthing of Belle's twins, was packed and ready to make haste out of the castle that was home to such horrendous creatures. That is, if Lumiere and Cogsworth would let him.

"My integrity will not be compromised, and if you do not mind, I will be on my way!"

The stout physician tried to dodge the lanky Lumiere and portly Cogsworth, but found himself thwarted at every turn.

"Compromised! _Mon ami_, who said you would be _compromised_?!" Lumiere declared with a flourish of his finger, whipping off a white cloth from a table that revealed a selection of the finest wine, cakes and cheeses, "A glass of wine, Monsieur? Or perhaps you would like to try one of our_ petite_ delicacies here! After all, you are our _guest_…"

Monsieur Méticule's eyes widened at a gourmet selection he had never seen before in his life. Sorely tempted, but a person of firm character, the physician shook his head.

"I am afraid I cannot, and I bid you adieu!"

"No! No! No! No!" the two members of castle staff cried with alarm, racing in front of Méticule and drawing him to a halt, "You cannot leave!"

Méticule was now starting to get rather annoyed.

"I can, and I will! _Au revoir_, messieurs!"

"Monsieur Méticule, please…!" Lumiere begged.

"We will do anything!" Cogsworth clasped his hands, pleading.

"You need to promise you will not say a word!" Lumiere continued.

Méticule shook his head sadly, trying to shuffle his way out.

"I cannot promise that," he muttered.

"But what will!?" Cogsworth cried out of desperation, pulling at his moustache.

If any word got out about the twins, the castle would be barraged once again by a mob of villagers! The royal reputation would be ruined! France would consider them monsters, freaks, ungodly creatures! It simply could not be risked…not after Vincent's seclusion for so long.

"Twenty gold pieces!" Lumiere declared.

Méticule stiffened, freezing from where he stood. He seemed to think upon it for a moment, and then his footsteps out the door resumed. Beads of sweat started to form on Cogsworth's forehead.

"Forty gold pieces!" he blurted.

"Fifty gold pieces!" Lumiere continued as Méticule made his advance to the door.

"Messieurs, you cannot bribe me!" the physician muttered.

"Seventy gold pieces!"

"Eighty gold pieces!"

"One hundred gold pieces!" Cogsworth suddenly shrieked as the doctor passed the threshold.

Lumiere fell silent and Cogsworth simpered, his face flushed. Méticule gradually turned around, his eyes wide. _One hundred gold pieces_…? The physician had never even seen such a sum!

"One hundred gold pieces…?" he replied, slowly spelling out each word.

Lumiere and Cogsworth exchanged nervous looks. Oh, Prince Vincent would not be happy about this. Swallowing, the pair nodded.

* * *

After much reasoning, begging and stubbornness on Belle's part, the Princess finally convinced Mrs. Potts to let her get out of bed and down to the conservatory where she could enjoy reading to her children in the light of the autumn sunshine.

Confined to a chair (despite Belle's insistence that she was perfectly fine, Mrs. Potts would not be budged on having Her Highness 'exert herself' so soon after giving birth), Belle looked on at her fur-covered twins, awake and observing the castle around them. Smiling and opening the book she had in her lap, she carefully flicked through a few pages, her brown eyes searching for a particular part.

"Oh, here we are," she spoke aloud to herself and the twins, "Now, this used to be my favourite story, and I hope it becomes one of yours too…"

Léon squirmed and yawned whilst Sybille remained silent, her gaze transfixed on her mother.

"Once upon a time, there was a lonely prince-"

Just as Belle started reading, she heard the door to the conservatory creak. Immediately glancing up, a relieved smile grew on her lips as she saw Vincent warily enter the room. Hovering around the doorway, the Prince felt like he was an intruder in his own castle.

"Oh Vincent!" Belle breathed, her smile warm and forgiving as she beckoned her husband towards her.

Vincent lingered, eyeing off the two bassinets and taking the widest berth around them. Belle smiled and reached down into the closest bassinet for her son.

"I knew you would return," she whispered, scooping up Léon in his blue blanket and cradling him, "Come and meet your Papa…"

Belle looked up, her brown eyes sparkling and full of hope as she smiled at her husband, presenting the brown coloured beast to him. Her smile soon faded as she saw Vincent flinch as soon as he laid eyes on his son, keeping as far away from them as possible.

"Aren't you going to hold Léon?" she asked quietly.

"Léon?" Vincent replied in an astounded whisper.

Belle nodded.

"Yes, that is his name."

Vincent scoffed disbelievingly.

"You _named_ them?" he demanded.

Belle, hurt and taken aback, held Léon closer to her chest.

"Well…yes," she responded confidently, "After all, they are my children and you weren't there to help me-"

"But you _named_ them! Those beasts! Those things!" Vincent, no matter how hard he tried to control himself, could feel another irrational temper rising.

"Yes of course I named them!" Belle raised her voice a little, "They are my children, I could not leave them nameless for a day-"

"But they are not children, Belle!" Vincent interrupted, pulling his hair with frustration, "Names are for humans and they are not! When I was the Beast, that was exactly what I was: _Beast_. I all but lost my name for seven years! They do not need names, when are they going to use them?"

"I will use them!" Belle put her son back into his bassinet, her hands clenched with the same frustration she felt when the Beast had newly imprisoned her, "I will use them so I can make Léon and Sybille feel as normal as possible!"

"Normal?! Belle, look at them! They will _never_ be normal! It is another curse, Belle, and this one…this one I don't think will be broken. Try as I might, I don't think I can break this one…"

"Well then why don't you _try_?!" Belle, her emotions catching up to her, was once again close to tears, "If it is another curse, what do you have to do? What do I have to do? Can you not at least _try_, Vincent?"

"I cannot!" Vincent suddenly shouted, gripping his head in his hands, "Try as I might, I look at those creatures and only feel revulsion! I am the only one who can break the curse and I cannot even look at them!"

Belle became distressed as Sybille started sobbing at the sound of her father's raised voice. Léon soon joined in. Her expression angry and bewildered, Belle stood up.

"Do not shout in front of the children, Vincent," she whispered firmly, "We need to talk in another room. Lumiere, Cogsworth?"

"_Oui_, You're Highness?" the pair popped their heads around the door immediately.

"Could you look after the twins for a moment, please?" Belle's request was kind and gentle, as it always was, but the two servants had never seen the Princess look so tired, "Vincent and I need to talk."

Cogsworth and Lumiere immediately straightened as soon as they sensed the tension between the royal pair.

"Oh me, oh my, of course!" Cogsworth spluttered hurriedly.

"Nothing would delight us more!" Lumiere added.

Belle smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered, making her way out of the room with Vincent storming out behind her.

In the silence of the room, Lumiere and Cogsworth exchanged glances. Their thoughts were both on the royal couple.

"Do you think…?" Cogsworth started but let his sentence drift off.

"Probably best not to think about it…" Lumiere continued in an equally vague tone.

"Hmm…yes, I think you are right," Cogsworth nodded furiously

There was another silence as the pair turned their attention to their little, furry charges. Léon squirmed in his bassinet, his face scrunched up. Sybille blinked with surprise at the presence of the two members of castle staff. Cogsworth clapped his hands, trying to distract himself from the thought of his Master and Mistress arguing.

"Well, this can't be too hard!" He declared of the twins.

"As easy as a crème brûlée!" Lumiere added.

"Have you ever looked after babies…?" Cogsworth asked, nervously twitching at his moustache.

"_Non_…" Lumiere shook his head, "Have you, _mon ami_?"

"Er…well…to be honest…um…no," Cogsworth's shoulders slumped.

"Well, my dear friend, I am sure it can't be that difficult! I do know the words to _Frère __Jacques_ after all!" Lumiere asserted, tugging at the lapels of his frock-coat confidently.

But just as the valet finished speaking, Léon let out a mighty wail. The pair jumped with surprise, scurrying to the bassinets. Léon was now wailing at the top of his lungs.

"Oh me, oh my!" Cogsworth panicked, "What could the matter be?!"

"_Mon ami_, I am sure he is just hungry…here, how about a nice piece of cake?"

"You fool, they don't eat cake! Perhaps he just wants to be rocked to sleep? What are the words to that nursery rhyme…?" Cogsworth battled to be heard as the furry Prince hollered loudly.

"Er…ah…I think it went: 'Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques…' _Mon dieu_! I forgot the words!" Lumiere scratched his head whilst Cogsworth's alarm heightened as he tried to rock the bassinet back and forth to calm the upset infant, to no avail.

"Perhaps he needs someone to…pick him up?" Cogsworth suggested, shrinking back from the bassinet as if he were the last person to do such a thing. Just as he spoke, Sybille joined in with her brother's crying.

Lumiere, torn between two wailing infants, used his long arms to scoop up the writhing Léon. The furry Prince squirmed and wriggled as Lumiere tried to soothe and rock him.

"Hush, hush now, _petit Prince_! _Zut alors_! _C'est impossible_!"

Cogsworth was practically pulling out his hair as he rushed from one bassinet to the other.

"Oh me, oh my, what are we to do? What are we to _do_?!"

Just as his friend started fretting, Lumiere's nose wrinkled as he noticed a rather foul smell wafting from Prince Léon's diaper. Raising his eyebrows, he quickly passed Belle's son onto an unsuspecting Cogsworth.

"Here, _mon ami_, I think you are more suited to the dirty work!"

"Whatever do you mean? Oh…! Pong!" Cogsworth gasped as he was hit with the full force of the smell, holding the little beast as far away from him as possible, "Oh my, I am certainly not changing him!"

"Well neither am I!"

"Surely you know more than me!"

"Afraid not, _mon ami_!"

"Well then, what in God's name are we going to do…?!"

The pair exchanged a glance amongst the mayhem, the same thought registering in their minds. Both Cogsworth and Lumiere opened their mouths and yelled:

"MRS. POTTS!!"

* * *

In the castle library, a sanctuary for Princess Belle with polished oak bookshelves, ladders available the scale every height and spine upon spine of thousands of books, an argument erupted in the usually tranquil atmosphere.

"So what is this curse, Vincent?" Belle spoke softly, her words echoing in the cavernous room.

Prince Vincent groaned and clutched his head, considering the entire conversation futile.

"It's nothing! You won't understand!" he barked.

Belle's usually calm brown eyes flared with annoyance.

"Don't you tell me that I don't understand, Vincent! I was the one who helped you to break your curse, remember? So why don't you stop wallowing and tell me what the matter is!"

Prince Vincent felt his heart ache as he saw Belle's pleading expression. He let out a frustrated sigh, a sigh that was mostly frustrated with himself and shook his head slowly.

"I…I can't," he admitted weakly.

Belle took a step towards him, placing a hand on his arm. Her brown eyes looked up at him, not letting his blue gaze go for the most fleeting of seconds.

"When I first met you, you had a great many secrets. But then you grew to trust me. Do you still trust me, Vincent?" she whispered.

Her quiet words stirred shame in the Prince's heart, his large hands gripping her shoulders as he looked into her eyes.

"I trust you Belle! Heaven knows, I trust you! But I cannot trust myself!" he replied in an urgent, tense whisper.

"How can you not trust yourself?" Belle demanded, her temper sparking at her husband's confused logic, "We overcame that curse, you rule a kingdom, you have a family! You have to trust yourself!"

"But that is precisely it!" Vincent exclaimed loudly, whirling away from his wife, ready to punch anything to let out this bottled up tension, "_We_ overcame that curse, Belle! If it wasn't for you, where would I be? I would still be a Beast, that's what!"

A perplexed look skipped over Belle's concerned features as she tried to keep up with Vincent's tirade.

"I could not break the curse myself, I needed you! But this time…" the Prince's voice faltered as he continued, "This time I have to do it on my own. And I can't! I can't, Belle!"

Belle let her husband's words sink it, a heavy realisation dawning on her as to what this meant for her and her children. She swallowed, her sharp mind thinking hurriedly over the right thing to say, and fast.

"Vincent…" she spoke slowly, "When I fell in love, a fell in love with you and all your imperfections."

She stepped up once more to her tense husband, cupping his cheek in her hand. She felt him relax.

"And when I fell in love," she continued, "I did not think of those imperfections at all. Instead, I found a brave, caring and gentle soul underneath your temper and stubbornness. I fell in love with you because I felt safe with you, because I could be myself. And I knew when I said my wedding vows that you would live to take care of me and our family, as well as the kingdom. I did not fall in love with a coward, Vincent, I fell in love with the bravest, most honest and kind person I had ever met. Can you not see that?"

The warmth of love in Belle's words made Vincent almost giddy. Tears pressed at his eyelids, but he fought them back. Oh, he loved Belle truly and deeply, more than anything put on this earth. But how could she love him when he was such a coward? So afraid to face his own past and with a spine like Mrs. Potts' wobbling jelly. Reluctantly, he drew away from his wife's embrace, his demeanour stiff and his head hung low with shame.

"I…" his voice broke momentarily, "I am sorry Belle."

Belle's brown eyes searched his features, her lips dropping from their loving smile.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"I am sorry I am such a coward…but…but I can't."

"You can't what?" Belle repeated.

"I…I just can't do it."

Belle's breath hitched as she felt her husband move away from her. No, this could not be happening!

"Vincent!" she called out after him.

His head low, shoulders slumped, Vincent did not even acknowledge his wife as he made to the door.

"Vincent, you cannot give up like this!" Belle continued, her voice growing increasingly urgent, "It's like I do not even know you anymore!"

"I'm sorry Belle…" Vincent whispered under his breath, reaching to close the door.

"Vincent please!" Belle was close to sobbing, although she hated to do such a thing, "Please Vincent, they are your _children_!"

The door started to close with no response from her husband. Belle's eyes widened, her expression infuriated, confused and desperate.

"Oh Vincent!" she shouted after him, "You Beast!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Oh yes, I'm back and I'm back! Longest chapter to date, as yet (I hope it wasn't too long-winded...there's a lot going on there) to make up for my noticeable absence! Yes, university has its detractors, one of them being spending more time writing essays than anything else! This one was also a bit of a writer's block chapter, so if it doesn't flow as well as you like, I apologise. Comments, critiques and commendation would be wonderful!_

_University doesn't finish until November, so chapters might be churned out a bit slower than what you were used to at the beginning of this story, but as the action amps up, I sure hope it would be worth the wait! I need to get this thing done before Christmas anyways, as quite suitingly, I'll be heading to France! Keep me on my toes, kids!_

_Anyway, toddle on down to the button below and tell me what you think!_

_Fancy Friday._


	13. Treize

_**. Trieze .**_

"Oh Vincent…." Belle sighed, hanging her head in the silence of the library.

A heaviness weighed her down, a heaviness of frustration and sorrow at her husband's cowardice. _Why must he be so unreasonable?_ She wondered, a flicker of anger surging through her before her good nature kept it in check.

Never one to spend her time moping and idle, Belle's sharp mind was quickly turning with solutions.

"Well, if he isn't going to do anything, then I certainly will!" Belle whispered to herself with a clenched fist, whirling around, her skirts flaring, to face the walls of books behind her.

Books. Her companions, friends and mentors. Surely they must have an answer! Comforted with black ink upon crisp pages, that dusty book smell delighting her senses, Belle indeed felt most at ease when her eyes scanned the pages.

Perhaps Vincent was going about this the wrong way? Although he quite liked being read to, and once every so often he would pick up a volume himself, Belle's husband certainly did not share the same voracious appetite for literature as she did. He enjoyed it immensely, of course, when she would encounter him, bright-faced, flushed with new facts and stories that would dazzle his mind. But books were more for damp days, when the world outside did not beckon, or the evening, in front of a crackling fire.

In every book, Belle saw a new life waiting to be lived. Her girlish glee had not faded over the years when it came to her reading habits. Some of the castle staff was often dismayed, able to pick where the Princess had migrated during the day due to the trail of books she left around. In every book Belle saw a new world, a new discovery…a new answer.

Pressing her fingers up against their spines and inhaling the sweet scent of leather mixed with paper, Belle let out a sigh from her depths. If books didn't have an answer to this curse, or the clues to break it, then what else would there be?

Belle's eyebrows furrowed with determination over her soft brown eyes.

"Come on Belle," she whispered to herself, her fingers tracing over the volumes as she started to scour.

Her mind whizzed and her eyes searched, as into her mind popped a myriad of topics:

_Beasts_. Belle came back armed with a wobbling pile of books, dropping them onto the old oak table with a thump and a cloud of dust.

_Curses_. She scuttled up the tallest ladder to reach the highest volumes, surely something that would outrage Mrs. Potts seeing the Princess had given birth recently, but for this, Belle would try anything.

_Enchantress_. Disappointingly, Belle only found two slim volumes. Perhaps this Enchantress was more elusive than she had thought.

_Babies_. She shrugged to herself as she pulled a volume off the shelf. It was a long-shot, but she could try!

Up and up the books piled, antiquated and gold leafed, some of the leather binds cracking as a miasma of dust consumed the great domed library. Coughing and spluttering, Belle waved away the dust particles, almost as thick as smoke, as she made her way to the grand oak table towering with books. Satisfied and her arms a little weary, she gazed upon the gigantic task before her.

How was she ever going to get through all those books?

* * *

Another evening fell upon the village down the hill, and with every passing evening, there grew discontent.

"Where's these babies, eh? I ain't seen hide nor hare of them!"

"_C'est vrai_, it's high time we see them!"

"Perhaps they are waiting until the Christening?"

"I say that Prince and Princess are too high and mighty to let their precious little babies see _ordinary_ folk like us!"

News had spread like wildfire that Monsieur Méticule had been summoned to the castle with such great haste that it simply _had_ to be for a royal birth. Over the passing months since the announcement that Princess Belle was expecting, a clutch of women had arranged weekly meetings to discuss the imminent arrival of a royal baby. Tall-tales, petty gossip and general nonsense rolled off their tongues as they tittered about what they had 'heard from the sister of Monsieur LeRoux, you know, the one who worked in the castle fifteen years ago when the Prince was but a boy…? Well, _she_ said…"

The blacksmith's wife, the baker's wife, the midwife and the local seamstress made sure that no one in the village was without news about the types of presents the baby would receive, where the Christening would be held or likely names the royal couple would bestow upon their new arrival. And then, when news trickled down from the castle that Princess Belle was expecting _twins_…well, they all just about fainted.

The morning after Méticule's hasty departure, the village midwife made a final pronouncement:

"Well, that's that then! She's far along enough to be due…and with twins! My, my, I would have expected her to call the doctor earlier!"

Of course, much celebration was to be had within the prattling group of gossip-mongers. Cakes were baked by the dozen as the ladies set to work to make sure that everyone in the village was flushed with anticipation of their first viewing of a royal child.

But the days dragged on, and as the excitement started to wane, the castle atop the hill remained as silent as ever. Tongues started to wag, first from the mean-spirited, but then, those who had previously believed that 'the Princess should have her rest', started to get suspicious.

"Do you think there is something wrong with the babies?"

"Do you think we are ever going to see them?"

"Do you think the Princess might be ill?"

Whispers turned to murmurs, murmurs into village gossip, and village gossip into tavern brawls.

"I say…_hic_! That we march right up to…that….what's-a-ma-call-it…_castle_! And _demand_ to see them! _Hic_!" Rouland, the local drunk, leered upon the bar, his ale swishing precariously in his jug.

"Too true!" came a few inebriated jeers.

"Yeah! What do they think? That they're too good for us or somethin'?!" the weasel-voiced Matois, part-time pickpocket, full-time layabout, declared, "What d'you think, LeFou?"

All eyes turned to Gaston's former lackey, the little man slumped in a chair cradling his beer. He lifted his hat from where it fell over his eyes. His usually exuberant face was creased and despondent as he hunched over, taking another long sip. His response was only a muttering of words those around him could neither hear nor understand.

Crushed that his betting pool, his get-rich-quick scheme, had fallen through since the announcement that the blasted Princess Belle was having twins, LeFou was once again wondering what the world had in store for him. Without Gaston around, his life seemed aimless. His days were taken up by ludicrous plans to make his riches, but every single one of them, including this one, had failed catastrophically. Existence seemed pointless and sometimes he wondered if he should take the exit that Gaston had. Princess Belle and Prince Vincent had their happiness…he, meanwhile, had debt, failed plans and the comfort of alcohol. He rubbed his nose, reddened both by the sweltering heat of the tavern and the promise of an oncoming cold, as he receded into the shadows.

The jeering in the tavern continued:

"There's gotta be somethin' wrong with them!" Matois screeched.

"Boys, calm down!" Blandine, the bosomy barmaid with a good wrestling arm and a voice to match, hollered over the noise, "They can't be two-headed monsters!"

_Two-headed monsters_…

The thought ticked over in LeFou's mind as he stared into the bottom of his glass, the froth of long-gone beer remaining. _Monsters_…

"Hold on a minute…" he blinked, his eyes twinkling as a thought registered in his head.

Oh, most people thought that LeFou was not the brightest one about the village. He was a lackey, not a leader, capable of taking orders but completely incapable of having a single thought for himself. But what they didn't realise, since the demise of the Great Gaston, was that LeFou was getting better at putting two and two together. And indeed, this had to be the greatest mental connection he had made by far!

"Hold on a minute!" LeFou raised his voice, throwing off his hat and clambering atop the table so he could make the most out of his short frame. His familiar manic smile was back across his features, "What if they really _are_ monsters?"

General snorts and sniggers rose from the tavern crowd. Oh yes, if Gaston had said such a thing everyone would have agreed immediately. But LeFou...

"Ha! He's as crazy as his name!" sniggered Matois, the skinny fellow almost falling off his stool with laughter.

"Pipe down Matois!" Blandine tossed back her golden curls and walloped him across the head.

With that, the entire tavern fell silent.

LeFou's eyes darted as a realisation, a plan of such epic proportions percolated in his mind.

"What if they really _are_ monsters…?" he repeated, his voice a dramatic whisper.

This time, the drunken men around him leaned in over their drinks to catch his every word. LeFou gave a little chuckle of glee.

"What if they're _beasts_?"

"Beasts!" Matois exclaimed sharply, "What a load of nonsense!"

"Matois…" Blandine growled.

"But…but you know the legend!" LeFou raised his voice, looking over his shoulder to glance at the lopsided, dusty portrait of Gaston that hung forgotten in the shadows, "The fearsome Beast that lived up in the castle, threatening to eat our children and ultimately…"

At this point LeFou choked, tears welling up in his eyes.

"…took the life of the Great Gaston."

A murmur rose in the tavern, some convinced, others sceptical.

"The Beast!" scoffed one patron, "Everyone knows that's the stuff of legend and the ramblings of that madman, Belle's father!"

"I was there at the castle!" piped up another, "I didn't see no Beast!"

"What happened to Gaston was an accident, he was so caught up in a frenzy that he probably didn't realise he was on the castle roof!" the patient voice from an older gentleman in the corner followed.

With each admission of disbelief surrounding him, LeFou became agitated. How could the people of the village have lost belief so quickly? It was _they_ who formed the angry mob that stormed the castle! _They_ who marched up the hill with Gaston, armed with pitchforks and flaming torches! And now…LeFou felt his heart ache…now Gaston was but a faded, forgotten hero. The stories of the Beast were passed off as folly and fantasy since Prince Vincent's return to the castle after 'some years abroad.' The kingdom was at peace, the villagers' lives were comfortable…what good were nonsense stories and superstitions about beasts now that they had everything they could ever wish for?

"You! Matois!" LeFou pointed to the scrawny man, "You were at the castle! You saw how the things…! The objects…! The furniture came _alive_! How do you explain that?!"

Matois merely shrugged indifferently.

"Eh! I only did it 'cos everyone else was! And anyway…I had had a few drinks beforehand," he chuckled, "I probably couldn't tell left from right!"

LeFou let out a frustrated cry, collapsing back into his chair. He glanced up from where he had buried his head in his arms as Blandine, larger than life, slid another frothing beer over his way.

"Here," she offered, "Drink up. You know, we'll never really know about those royal brats until that uppity doctor returns anyway."

"Who? Méticule?" the older gentleman in the corner raised his voice.

"Yes." LeFou sniffed.

"Oh, I saw him but an hour ago, returning to his home."

In an instant LeFou's wallowing had evaporated, instead replaced by a cunning idea and a bright expression.

"Really now…?" he smiled, sniggering as he tugged his hat upon his head and rubbed his hands with anticipated, "What good timing!"

* * *

In the dead of night, as the clock ticked towards the early hours of the morning, Prince Vincent awoke with a start. A cold sweat formed droplets on his forehead, his blue eyes looking around wildly in the darkness of the empty guest bedroom he had taken up residence.

With urgency, Vincent grasped at his arms, felt his face and stared at his hands in the weak moonlight. Seconds passed, and the Prince let out a great whoosh of air.

"Only a dream…" he whispered to himself.

No fur. No fangs. No roaring voice.

"Only a dream."

He exhaled, rubbing his tired eyes from nights of broken sleep and worry-filled days, as he settled back into the pillows. But just as he made to close his eyes, they burst open again.

A sound, a baby's cry far off in the winding halls of the castle, caused his heart to clench and guilt to broil in the pit of his stomach.

There were still some nightmares that Prince Vincent could not quite escape…

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Back, back, back! Yes, still slow updates as semester slogs along...but believe me, this little fiction of mine will be finished! I hope all you wonderful readers are still enthusiastic about this story...the plot and the action will be picking up the pace from next chapter onwards (how exciting!), so stay tuned!_

_Anyway, this is a little chapter I managed to churn out amidst the assignments...which I really should get back to...just to remind you all that yes, I'm still here, and yes, I'm still dedicated! Let me know what you think!_

_Do what you do best and scuttle on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday.  
_


	14. Quatorze

_**Author's Note:** Please note that the last part of Chapter 13 really should be at the end of this chapter! This chapter and the next do span the course of the same night...I don't know where I was continuity-wise when I wrote the last one...I think I was off in study-land!_

* * *

_**.Quatorze.**_

Wind rushed through the creaking copses of trees, ruffling the unkempt grass in abandoned fields and sent fallen autumn leaves tumbling and scattering in the depths of the evening. As autumn's were, this one was the chilliest by many a year, the elders of the village predicting early snowfall.

But in the village tavern, as the air outside was cooling rapidly, the conversation was only heating up…

"Who's with me?!" LeFou cried, standing up on his table for one last attempt at arousing a riotous fervour in the villagers that had not been seen in the days since Gaston was alive.

He was met by half-hearted grumbles and several complaints as to the level of noise he was making.

Huffing, LeFou jumped off from the table, the short-statured man scampering around the tavern in a maniacal state.

"You have to believe me! That doctor- he has the answers!" LeFou exclaimed, tugging on the cravat of one patron and almost tipping over the beer of some others, "The children! They're beasts, you know it! Remember when Belle revealed that hideous creature in that mirror of hers? There's no denying it!"

"Witchcraft," mumbled one.

"The arts of optical illusion," proclaimed another, "I hear that's the kind of trickery they learn by reading too many books!"

"Ah LeFou!" grunted another one, "Go back to yer portrait of Gaston, eh? Can't a man just drink in peace?"

Lefou's expression dropped, his shoulders slumping. Resentment creased his features, his eyebrows furrowing as he folded his arms. Receding into the shadows, he glanced up at Gaston's forgotten portrait and muttered:

"Just you wait, I'll prove it to them Gaston! You know I will!"

The little man almost jumped out of his skin, however, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder.

"I believe you," a female voice resounded from above.

LeFou looked up from under his flop of black hair at the colossal stature which was Blandine, the barmaid.

Blonde and blue-eyed, but with a figure that could wrestle any man or beast to the ground, Blandine had taken pride in being the only person that had successfully challenged the Great Gaston in a wrestling match. By pinning him to the ground in that one-off wrestling match five years ago, Blandine had thought she had found a way to the village hero's heart.

Oh, how wrong she was.

For it was afterwards that she discovered that Gaston liked quieter, meeker girls. Girls that did not fight or swear, hunt or shoot. Girls that could cook, could clean and would worship him. A girl that would be his little wife. A girl named Belle.

Heartbroken but not about to show it, Blandine had carried on. She had been there when Gaston had declared to the village that he would marry that book-mouse. She had watched on as town folk gathered outside Belle's cottage, the village hero marching in with flowers and tumbling out into a pool of mud. She had felt her heart leap with secret glee when Gaston rallied the village to storm the castle, but spent days in bed, mourning, when he did not return. Oh, she was no weeping, melodramatic fool like the three Bimbettes, who spent months on end bemoaning the loss of Gaston. Her loss was private, more intense, and being the village strong-woman, she had to keep her chin high.

"You…you believe me…?" LeFou stuttered, his eyes gleaming with a flicker of hope.

"Well, Gaston was no fool!" Blandine stated gruffly, "Although everyone has now forgotten, I believed him and I always will."

"You really think there is a Beast up there…?" Gaston's former lackey whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"There's got to be something up there," the barmaid huffed as she returned behind the counter, "No-name bookworm's don't become princesses by accident! Matois! Don't you _dare_…!"

The weasel-like pickpocket yanked his sly fingers out of the tankard full of tips as Blandine barrelled over, hauling him up by the scruff of his neck, having his legs dangling in thin air.

"I swear! I swear I ain't doin' nothing, _ma chérie_!" he stuttered, trying to appease the statuesque barmaid with a smile.

"My foot you were!" Blandine growled, "That's your last chance, Matois!"

Holding him aloft, the barmaid marched over to the tavern door, opening it sharply to be almost blown down by a gust of chilly wind. With one great throw, she sent the petty criminal soaring through the air and landing with a crash, his arms, legs and body contorted into an odd position.

"You're no longer welcome here, Matois!" Blandine boomed, reaching for the door to shut it in his face.

"Blandine! Please! Wait!" Matois begged from where he was entangled in his own limbs, "I can help you, I swear I can help you!"

Blandine huffed, glaring at him and closing the door further. Matois scrambled about. Surely Blandine could not be serious! How was a man supposed to cope without his beer?

"I know how to break into the castle!" he exclaimed in a last-ditch effort.

There was silence. Matois gulped. Of course, being the dishonest criminal he was, what he had said was a complete lie. But seeing as he had broken into a great many other homes in his day, pilfering their valuables and making a good sum out of them…surely breaking into the castle atop the hill would be a cinch…?

LeFou's head poked around the corner, a delighted smile upon his features.

"You do…?" the short man asked.

Matois nodded energetically. He would agree to anything for his alcohol.

Blandine and LeFou exchanged looks. Perhaps Matois could be of some use after all.

* * *

Monsieur Méticule was a person of routine and organisation. If things did not go exactly to plan, then all was lost.

Weary and still in shock from his return from the castle, Méticule rubbed his eyes as he prepared himself for bed.

"All a dream, good fellow, all just a dream…" he muttered to himself, trying to convince himself that what he had delivered in the castle were not hairy animals.

He sighed as he changed into his nightshirt, removing his spectacles briefly to clean them. His medical instruments remained untouched in his bag, his hat sat upon his chair, and besides it, a little pouch. A pouch filled with exactly one hundred gold pieces.

Monsieur Méticule was a man of honour deep down, proud that he had never succumbed to the temptations of money or dishonesty. But today, he had accepted an unimaginable sum for an unimaginable secret. Opening up the pouch, the brightness of the gold shone back at him, taunting him at his fall in character. He sighed again. Perhaps all he needed was a nice, long sleep.

Removing his spectacles, the world becoming hazy, he pottered around his little cottage, pulling back the bed sheets and was about to blow out the candle when there was a forceful knock upon the door.

"Whoever could that be at this time of night…?" he grumbled to himself, annoyed that his routine was interrupted, "_Mon Dieu_, what an ungodly hour to be paying a call!"

The forceful knock sounded again, the strength of it rattling some objects upon the bedside table.

"Coming, coming!" Méticule exclaimed, "_Zut alors_! All I want is a little sleep and here someone is trying to barge down my door!"

Peering through the peep-hole, Méticule only saw darkness. He sighed.

"If you are after my services, Monsieur, I am afraid I am indisposed tonight! Go and see Monsieur Louche!" Méticule opened the front door a crack and called through it.

With a force that knocked the wind out of the old gentleman, the door was shoved open. Méticule stumbled backwards, and with a crash, fell flat on his back. His mind jumbled, his nerves shot, the elderly doctor's bleary eyesight squinted upwards as a trio of unlikely sized figures surrounded him.

"Who…who…?" Méticule stuttered, winded and befuddled.

"We ain't after your services, old man," snarled the weasel sized intruder.

"But you could do us a mighty service by telling us what's really up in that castle, eh?" leered a second, shorter figure.

In one swift movement, the poor doctor was swept up by the scruff of his neck and dangling from a brawny arm. He squinted again, but could only make out hazy blonde curls. _Mon Dieu_…was that a _woman_?

"What…what do you want? Who are you? Get out of my home!" the elderly gentleman suddenly blurted, trying to struggle free from the grip that held him aloft.

"Oh shut it, you old coot!" Boomed another voice. This one definitely female.

"All we ask of you, Monsieur Méticule, is just a little favour…" LeFou strolled around the doctor's cottage, delighted that he was finally pulling off something that was akin to Gaston's trickery, "A teensy-weensy tiny little favour!"

Matois the pickpocket, meanwhile, was busy scouting around the doctor's belongings, holding up various bottles of tonics and cures, peering at labels and trying out clamps, assessing them for hawking wealth. That was, until he spotted the small velvet pouch by Méticule's bed…

"All we need to know, Monsieur," LeFou grinned up at the writhing doctor, "Is why exactly that brat prince and his book-worm up in the castle aren't letting us see their babies. Could there be something _wrong_?"

Matois unstrung the pouch, his eyes bulging as soon as he caught a glimpse of gold. _Sacrebleu_, it was just not _any_ gold! Hastily, Matois' sly fingers made quick work of claiming the pouch as his own.

"Could there be something wrong with the little children?" LeFou continued, "Could they be ill…or could there be something a little more _beastly_ about them?"

Méticule visibly paled and gulped, shaking his head furiously.

"I am afraid, sir, that I will not speak a word to you!"

But LeFou's leering grin only became wider at the doctor's obstinacy.

"Oh, Méticule, if you decide to do that then Blandine here will make sure that there is nothing left of all your worldly possessions."

As if to make a point, Matois picked up a china plate and smashed it. Blandine grunted in the doctor's face.

Méticule, frail and trembling, one never to fail his own honest character unless it was under an extreme circumstance, sighed.

"I suppose I have no other choice then…"

* * *

The clock ticked close to twelve in the castle. Lumiere heaved a sigh and shook his head as the night wore on. Passing by the royal bedrooms, the lanky valet noticed how hollow the castle felt, echoing and cavernous as it had once been under the curse, instead of vibrant and welcoming as it usually was.

"My, my where could that poor dear be?" Mrs. Potts emerged from the shadows, her expression a picture of concern.

The Princess Belle had not been seen since this morning's disagreement with the Master. The fact that she had not shown for either lunch or dinner something that rattled the good castle-keeper's nerves considerably.

"It is unlike her to disappear like this!" Mrs. Potts marched alongside Lumiere's strides as they searched the castle, "Both lunch and dinner, heavens, what is this castle coming to? First the Master is in a temper, now Belle has disappeared! Is anyone going to look after those poor little children?"

The portly women straightened her mob cap and wrung her hands, her expression creased where usually she was the epitome of calm and cheer.

"Whatever are we going to do about it? It' black magic again, that Enchantress' magic! My, my, and we all thought the curse was broken-"

Mrs. Potts' shut her mouth as soon as Lumiere pressed a finger to his lips:

"Shhh," the valet pointed to inside the library where the door was left ajar.

Mrs. Potts' and Lumiere's eyes peeped around the door leading to the grand library, Mrs. Potts exhaling a relieved sigh.

"Oh, the poor dear…"

For there, very much asleep, was the Princess. Her cheek was pressed up against an open book, strands of hair from her brown waves that pooled by her face fluttering with each breath. Piles and piles of books rose up around the young woman like a forest and others were scattered haphazardly along the old oak table. So sound asleep was Belle that she did not notice Mrs. Potts' or Lumiere's presence, barely stirring as the valet helped her out of her chair and scooped her up in his arms.

As they carefully ventured through the long castle halls, Belle's brown eyes fluttered momentarily.

"Mmmm…" she groaned softly, "Vincent, is that you?"

"Shhh now," Mrs Potts stroked the princess' forehead tenderly, Belle soon returning to the land of slumber.

Once reaching the royal bedroom, Lumiere laid the sleeping Belle upon the empty four poster bed before being shooed out by Mrs. Potts. The Princess did not stir a bit as the older woman helped her into her nightdress and tucked her into bed. Holding a candle aloft, Mrs. Potts smiled gently as she watched the young woman sleep. Indeed, the last few days' events must have caught up to her.

Casting a watchful eye over the peacefully slumbering twins, their bassinets by the window, Mrs. Potts decided that it was time to leave the small royal family be. The shadows darkened in the bedroom as Mrs. Potts and her candle drew further to the door, taking one last peek before shutting it firmly.

Mrs. Potts wore a melancholy smile. Oh, things had been troubled of late, but being the eternal optimist, she knew things could only improve for the better.

If only the matron knew that the three shadows lurking in the castle gardens were about to make things much, much worse…

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Another return, another chapter. Yes, I know this one is also a bit 'filler-ish', but somehow one has to find build-up I guess. I only just managed to squeeze this one out around essays and exams, its not all over until the 12th, so hang on until then and you'll probably see many more frequent updates!_

_As usual, hurry on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday._


	15. Quinze

_**.Quinze.**_

"Psst! Keep on going!"

"Move it Matois!"

Matois, LeFou's partner-in-crime, looked down from where he had clambered up a trellis leading to the royal bedrooms of the castle and gulped. A petty crook he may be, but if there was one thing Matois was more terrified of than being sent to the guillotine by the royal guards…it was heights. Common thievery and light-fingeredness was hardly a problem: pilfering a pocket here and pinching some jewellery there was all in a day's work for Matois. But _this_…this climbing business…well, _mon Dieu_, it was all getting a bit too much! It was at that point, a good eight feet off the ground that Matois considered how much this bargain really meant to him.

Glancing over to where Blandine and LeFou leaned out from the bushes, he tried to control his knocking knees.

"Are…are you sure…?"

"Yes, that one! The one where the light just went out."

Twenty minutes earlier the trio in the bushes had watched the figure of Mrs. Potts extinguish the final candle by the window. There was no doubt that the room was home to the royal brats, as in the warm glow of candlelight, LeFou, Blandine and Matois had seen the shadows of two bassinets. Now it was up to Matois, resident prince of swindling and petty crime, to trick the window latch silently so they could steal away the beast-children.

Images flashed through LeFou's mind as he observed Matois making a precarious ascent. Oh yes, what a heist this would be! Such a heist that even the Great Gaston (rest his soul) would not even consider pulling it off! The little man chuckled to himself, his eyes glazed over and a maniacal grin across his features. This was the moment that would make 'LeFou' a name celebrated across town. He would be feted, adored, worshipped! He would even be…dare he say it…_greater_ than Gaston himself! No longer would he be that 'funny little fellow' most people took wide berths around…but the village hero!

Upon hearing of the wretched beasts Monsieur Méticule described Belle giving birth to, LeFou could hardly contain himself. The curse lived on…and fear was to be mongered! Once the townsfolk discovered that the monarchs in the castle upon the hill were not bluebloods, but an inheritance of fur and fangs, terror would be rife. "Lock up your children! Hide your women!" LeFou would cry, "For the beasts of the castle will surely devour them!" The women would cower and the bravest of men would assemble a mighty mob, larger than the one Gaston had rallied, to storm the castle and drive that Prince and his precious Belle into exile once and for all!

And the children…? Oh, LeFou had grander plans for them. For what would make him more money than turning the infant Prince and Princess into a travelling freak-show? '_Les Curiosités Merveilleuses de LeFou_': 'LeFou's Wondrous Curiosities', where the royal half-beast, half-humans would be the main attraction. Ten francs per five minutes to see such _hideous _creatures. Ladies would faint, children would gawp and men would jeer. "What kind of people could produce such fearsome monsters?!" the crowd would implore, in which LeFou would reply: "Why that of the blood that rules France, _notre patrie_!"

So abandoned was he in his reverie of fame and riches that LeFou hardly noticed Matois shakily making his way to the windowpane. With his trusty instruments of the trade, Matois' trembling fingertips silently picked the lock and lifted the latch to the grand bay windows of the royal bedroom. His sigh of relief was cut short as the window gave a low creak when he pushed it inwards, cringing as he tried to slip into the castle with as little noise as possible.

_Almost there_, _almost there_, Matois thought as he began to clamber though, his breath hitching as his breeches caught on a thorn from the overhanging rose trellis. Blandine and LeFou exchanged panicked looks as they saw their companion struggle.

"Matois!" Blandine hissed, her voice carrying against the silent night, "What are you doing?"

"I'm stuck!" Matois replied, tugging his leg, "_Waaaaaah_! Oof!"

The faces belonging to LeFou and Blandine scrunched up as they saw Matois tumble head-first into the royal bedroom with a thump.

Dazed, and sure that he was going to develop a bruise of his forehead, Matois immediately looked around in the darkness that shrouded the bedroom, hoping against hope that not a soul had seen him. Silence ensued, but for the heavy breathing of someone sleeping. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Matois stood on shaky legs, making a careful note of everything around him. A magnificent four-poster bed, bedecked in the richest silk, was quite a few feet to his left, within it, the deeply slumbering figure of Princess Belle. A sharp breeze drifted through the open window, ruffling the white lace over-hangings of the two bassinets directly in front of him. His prize.

Swallowing, Matois gingerly approached the bassinets. Babies. Matois didn't mind babies, so long as they kept out of his way and he didn't have to hold them. There was something about their squirming and crying that always made him uncomfortable. Picking up the lace shroud of the closest bassinet with his fingertips, Matois creased his eyebrows with apprehension…and soon found himself stumbling backwards.

"Ugh!" he exclaimed, eyes wide and disbelieving.

That senile old doctor had been right! For what lay fast asleep on the silken covering of that bassinet was far from human! It was beastly! The weak moonlight washing in, Matois squinted down at the infant Léon, unable to fathom how the child came to be covered in such thick brown fur. With the ears and paws of a beast! Gathering his wits, Matois almost jumped out of his skin as he heard Belle shift in her bed and murmur something in her sleep.

Catching his breath and steeling his nerves, Matois nervously approached the bassinet again. He cringed. Those beast-children were no trick of the light. Leaning out of the window, he silently beckoned LeFou and Blandine to come out of hiding where they could aid him in this act of child snatching. Now, all he needed to do was grab the children…and lower them down to the arms of his partners below. A task easier said than done.

Unravelling some rope he had brought up with him, Matois pondered about how exactly he was going to do this. Precious time was ticking away, and Matois soon realised he had wasted a golden opportunity when he looked down and saw Léon awake and staring curiously at him. The child blinked, his gummy mouth spreading into a smile and reaching out for the figure that loomed above him. The young prince let out a welcoming giggle and coo.

Matois, meanwhile, was in a state of panic. The child was awake! This wasn't supposed to happen! With his nerves shot and his carefully executed plan crumbling to pieces, the anxious Matois reacted out of impulse, bundling Léon up in his blanket and securing the rope around it, hurrying the child out of the window and down the castle façade as fast as possible. As the rope swayed and trembled, Léon, swaddled in the darkness of a blanket, began to cry. Matois' sweaty hands gripped the rope, terror pulsing through his veins as he made sure, in the cover of darkness, that the royal child was lowered into the arms of Blandine.

But just as Léon made it safely into the arms of his captors, his sister, remaining in her bassinet, began to wail.

"_Mon Dieu_! Oh no, oh no!" Matois fretted as he tried to hush the squalling Sybille, "Shhhh! Shhhh!"

But the tawny beast did not stop, squeaking as Matois grabbed her and carelessly wrapped her up in her blanket. His hands shook as he lowered her down, terrified that all her squirming would result in him letting go and sending her plummeting.

His task accomplished as LeFou grappled with the protesting Sybille, Matois took one fleeting look at the empty bassinets he was leaving behind and made to get out of the castle. Clambering over the window sill, he yelped with fright as the old brick footing he had used to get into the bedroom gave way, leaving him dangling.

"Hurry up Matois!" Blandine urged from below, her hand clapped over Léon's mouth whilst LeFou tried to quiet Sybille.

Looking down (for it was a very long drop) Matois felt dizzy as he tried to manoeuvre to the trellis. Successfully finding his footing, he lurched cautiously downwards, halting once again as a thorn caught on his breeches for a second time.

"_Sacrebleu_!" Matois whispered furiously, trying to free himself but only managing to get further entangled.

Blandine and LeFou's expressions blanched. The castle guards could be on them any minute! At that moment, the pair silently decided to leave Matois to his troubles on the trellis. With the babes in arms, they had what they had come for and were not going to get caught doing it.

Matois panicked as soon as he saw his companions steal off into the darkness.

"Guys! Wait! Hey! I'm stuck here!" he called out, simultaneously trying to de-thorn himself and wave for their attention.

The only thing Matois managed to achieve was a loud _riiiip!_ and was soon hurtling towards the ground.

"_Argh_! Oof!"

Matois groaned as he lay sprawled on a now flattened bush, his entire body aching at the impact. Gingerly getting to his feet, he noticed that the entire backside of his breeches was still attached to the rose trellis by the window.

The silence in the castle gardens was perfect, the moonlight Matois' only guide. The nervous thief looked around him, unable to see which direction LeFou and Blandine had made off with.

"Guys…?" he whispered, stumbling into another rose bush with a moan.

Cursing his luck and uprighting himself once again, Matois froze as he heard in the distance towards the woods that lay by the castle, the long, mournful howl of a wolf. Swallowing and spluttering, Matois didn't need anymore encouragement to get out of there.

"_Mon Dieu_! Wait for me!"

* * *

The morning dawned bright and cheerful, as it did on most days for the ever-optimistic Mrs. Potts.

"Come, come now Chip, no fussing about! Belle must be hungry," the warm castle-keeper hurried her son along who was busy straightening the napkin to perfection.

"But everything must be perfect Mama!" Chip protested, resisting his mother's gentle attempts to shoo him away.

"Oh my!" Mrs. Potts chortled, smiling fondly at the youngest of her brood, "Quite the perfectionist there Mister! You will soon be just like Cogsworth over there!"

Chip's eyes widened as he scrambled after his Mama who was briskly pushing her trolley to the royal bedrooms.

"I'm not like Cogsworth, Mama! I'm not really!"

Mrs. Potts merely laughed at her son's voice trailing after her, glanced over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye.

"Now Chip, Mama has to see Belle and the twins, be a good boy and help shine the cutlery like Lumiere asked you to?"

Chip's shoulders slumped and he huffed.

"OK Mama…" he whined sulkily with a roll of his eyes, reluctantly shuffling back to the kitchen muttering, "Stupid cutlery…it used to shine itself!"

Mrs. Potts meanwhile proceeded with her morning routine of bringing Princess Belle's breakfast trolley to her bedroom (in the matron's mind Belle was hardly fit after childbirth to do such strenuous exercise as to come down to the dining room for her morning meal), whistling as she went. Her whistle echoed through the castle, a happy, uplifting tune, for she reasoned that someone had to be cheerful in these glum times!

Upon reaching the royal bedroom, Mrs. Potts parked her trolley, paused and then rapped two soft knocks on the door. She waited. No response.

Smiling kindly and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she reasoned that Belle must be still soundly asleep. It had been an exhausting time for the poor dear.

Turning the doorknob, Mrs. Potts wheeled her trolley into the bedroom.

"Good morning my dear!" she announced brightly to the still sleeping Belle, "And such a lovely morning it is!"

Belle stirred and groaned from where she was buried into her pillow. She opened one eye. It had felt like she had slept for a hundred years! Yawning, she lethargically propped herself up, rubbing her eyes and moving her brown locks away from her face.

"Good morning Mrs. Potts," Belle muttered sleepily.

"My goodness, out like one of Lumiere's candles you were!" Mrs. Potts remarked, "You didn't stir a bit when we brought you up here!"

Belle blinked and stretched.

"I don't feel like I've ever slept so deeply…"

Mrs. Potts, a teacup in hand, bustled over to the window where the two bassinets lay.

"And how is the young Master and Mistress…? My, not even a peep, they must be so sound asleep--"

But Mrs. Potts' cheerful commentary was cut off by a scream as she dropped the teacup, having it smash to pieces. Belle, shocked, jumped out of bed, rushing over to the bassinets…only to see their bare silk lining. Stunned into silence and the colour draining out of her face, the only thing Belle managed to hear was Mrs. Potts' cry:

"They're _gone_!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Firstly, let me send you a ridiculous amount of apologies. I have been wanting to get this chapter to you sooner, however, I was hit with a bout of writer's block like I haven't experienced for months...the type of block that you get where you spend two weeks straight (that's right, two weeks!) looking blankly at the computer screen on your brain on flatline. Horrid...but here it is!_

_Apologies again if its not up to par, writer's block chapters are the hardest to write, as I rewrote this thing three times! I've got to get back in the swing of things! Hopefully the next chapter will come along much more smoothly than this one..._

_(By the by, I am also fixing up the grammatical nitpicks in each chapter just to smooth things out...slowly!)  
_

_A few things to mention before I go:_

_Firstly, I'm leaving soon for overseas for five weeks, hopefully I may be able to get another chapter (or two...) to you before I leave so you have something to read whilst I'm away (backpacking really doesn't lend itself to sit-down-and-write time). So if I do happen to disappear after Christmas and don't return until sometime in February, I haven't abandoned you...I'm just in a different country with a funny keyboard!_

_Secondly, I'm writing a sequel to this. That's all I'm saying, not revealing anything more as I plan to put the first chapter of that up when I post the last chapter of this one. And the last chapter of this story will also most likely include a 'sneak preview' so you can see what's in store for the next adventure._

_Anyway, do what you do best and waddle on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday.  
_


	16. Seize

_**.Seize.**_

Prince Vincent jolted awake as the scream ripped through his slumber. Almost tumbling off one of the guest beds he had resigned himself to since the birth of the twins, the prince of the castle looked about wildly for the source of the ruckus. Haphazardly pulling on some breeches and an unbuttoned white shirt, he yanked open the door and raced down the halls to where his instinct led him: the royal bedroom.

A crowd of castle staff were gathered outside to the bedroom he had shared with his wife, their eyes wide, their mouths muttering and faces pale. Dutifully, they parted away from the door as soon as they saw their Master approach, their gazes unable to meet his face. His expression firm, Vincent stalked into the bedroom, his servants shrinking away as soon his blue eyes glanced at them. It was in the bedroom, where the sunlight flooded in on a bright but crisp autumn day, that the Prince witnessed a scene of devastation.

His eyes first landed on Belle, his beloved wife. Vincent's heart jumped a little as he noticed that the colour had drained out of her face. She sat rigidly on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, her fingers clenching at the bed sheets underneath her, with Maurice and Lumiere sombrely holding her by the shoulders. The Prince almost choked as she raised her big brown eyes to his, once full of delight and warmth, now empty and grieving.

Vincent turned to Mrs. Potts, her rotund frame and mob cap quivering with tiny sobs as she huddled in a high-backed chair a dumbstruck Cogsworth had ushered her into. The usually fussy butler was struck silent, no number of 'oh me, oh my's' able to fix the situation.

It was then that Vincent looked straight ahead of him and found the source of all the shock. Two empty bassinets. Their coverings had been disturbed, the satin still bearing the impression of the two little beings that had slept so soundly in them. Besides them was an open window.

A hard lump formed in Vincent's throat as he stepped further into the room. The air was so heavy with distress and sorrow that the Prince thought he could not breathe.

"Belle…" he whispered, taking a step towards his wife.

His heart clenched as she lowered her eyes and turned her face to the side, straining to hold back tears.

"They're gone, Vincent," she whispered so softly that if a breeze had passed by it would have stolen it away.

"Gone…?" Vincent swallowed, looking around at each of his devastated staff for a confirmation.

"K-kidnapped, You're Highness," Cogsworth uttered, whipping out a lace-fringed handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes.

Belle sniffed sharply as soon as Cogsworth mentioned 'kidnapped', as if the word was a slap to her face. She clenched harder at the bed sheets.

"I…I was asleep," the Princess started in a broken whisper, "I was asleep and I didn't hear…if only I…oh!"

Belle's composure dissolved into tears before she could finish the sentence, nestling into the embrace of her father.

"If only I had not slept so deeply!" Vincent heard his wife's muffled sob from the arms of Maurice.

The castle staff exchanged woeful looks. It made their hearts ache to see the ever-kind and loving princess in such turmoil and distress. Vincent fought back taking his wife into his arms. _Would it be the right thing to do_, he wondered, _after our difficulties since the birth of the twins_?

"There, there my dear, it is not your fault…" Maurice stroked his daughter's abundance of brown hair reassuringly, his concerned eyes telling a very different story.

Vincent suddenly felt awkward, out of place, as he did not know whether to hold his weeping wife or not. Glancing at her, the Prince softly touched her on the shoulder. Belle flinched with surprise before tearing her face from the warmth of her father's garments to look up at her husband with tear-streaked cheeks. Vincent shifted back, eyeing his Belle with a mixture of uncertainty and compassion.

"I will find them Belle," he stated simply, strongly, wishing that such a statement would put her grieving mind and heart at ease.

Belle stared up at her husband for a moment as if she did not know him. She lowered her eyes and nodded. Vincent sighed, hating the heaviness in his heart that came with disappointing the only love in his life. He made to move away before Belle grabbed him by the hand. Looking down, he found his wife gazing determinedly at him.

"How?" she whispered desperately, "How are you going to find them?"

Vincent gulped silently. Well…he hadn't thought that far. Needing an answer to allay his wife's fears, Vincent looked about the room. Every single servant lowered their eyes and looked away.

"I…" Vincent stumbled, clearing his throat, "I will send out a search party."

Whispers and mutters rippled through the castle staff at the Prince's proclamation. Vincent steeled himself.

"That largest search party France has ever seen!"

Eyes lifted, and for a moment, the people around him started to look hopeful. The Prince was taking action! Something was to be done! The twins would be found!

The only person who did not catch this glimmer of hope was the mother of the twins herself. Further tears welled up in her eyes as her expression begged of her husband.

"But how?" Belle repeated, "_How_ are you going to find them?"

The young woman released herself from Maurice's protective hold to stand up to her towering husband.

"You _know_ you cannot very well send out a search party, Vincent," Belle's sad eyes reasoned.

Vincent bit back a burst of frustration. Here he was trying to help his wife and the children that had been stolen…and she _doubted_ him?

"Well, what else is there to do Belle?" Prince Vincent replied hotly, the strain evident in his voice.

"I do not know!" Belle cried, equally frustrated and almost tearing out her hair with her hands, "I do not know, but what I do know is that you cannot send out a search party!"

"Why not?" Vincent demanded, stepping up to his diminutive wife.

"Can you imagine it, Vincent…?" Belle whispered tersely, "What exactly will you say when looking for the twins? 'Oh, _excuse-moi monsieur_, but have you seen two babies covered in fur? With ears and paws to match?' They would think you are crazy! They would not believe you!"

The truth hit home. Vincent had not thought about that. He looked around desperately at his staff, their hope wavering and faltering as Belle's reasoning took hold. He felt like shaking his wife, cursing her cleverness, as his idea sank like a heavy stone.

"But what else are we to do, Belle?" Vincent growled, his posture bristling as her challenge stirred his vexation, "We cannot wait around in the castle for them to come back, can we? They're out there somewhere…and I am going to find them!"

With that, the Prince turned on his heel and marched out of the bedroom, leaving a pale Belle and some very shocked servants behind.

There was silence.

"I…er…I…um…suppose I ought to assist the Master," Cogsworth faltered after a long pause, nervously shuffling out of the room.

The servants muttered, one by one drifting out of the room and down the hall. Chip quietly slinked away. Lumiere let go of Belle's shoulder.

"_Je suis desolée_, _ma chère_, but I must also go."

The bedroom emptied, a sniffling Mrs. Potts being helped away by Madame de la Grande Bouche, leaving only Belle and her father behind.

"Oh Papa…" Belle whispered sadly to Maurice as the last of the servants trailed away, "What is he going to do?"

Belle's father smiled wistfully, cupping his daughter's cheek tenderly.

"Sometimes, my dear, you need to take a gamble…and have a little faith."

* * *

"Shhh! Shhh!"

"Shut up! Someone's coming!"

"I can't get the bloody brat to hush up!"

LeFou hurriedly extinguished the candle illuminating the tavern cellar where the three fugitives and their stolen twins took refuge. The cellar, filled with enormous barrels of ale and wine, reeked of damp and dust, the demise of the candle plunging them into darkness. It was here that the three bandits scuttled after stealing away the twins just before daybreak, awaiting the passing of the day so they could emerge and make their way to the next village under the cover of night. But remaining silent under the tavern, a hiding place Blandine had arranged, was not an easy task.

Sybille squirmed as Blandine clamped a hand over her mouth, the trio shrinking behind a barrel as two barmaids ventured down the stairs, oil lamp aloft. LeFou, Matois and Blandine all held their breath.

"Did you hear, Veronique?"

"Hear what, Angelle?"

"Why the royal children have been stolen!"

"_Mais non_!"

"_Mais oui_! There is a great search going on…who could do such a horrid thing?"

"Those poor little babies…"

The two barmaids ceased their talking as a male voice boomed from above.

"Angelle! Veronique! I did not send you down to the cellar to chit chat! I need that barrel of ale now!"

The pair rolled their eyes and groaned as they lifted the small, but heavy, barrel.

"Ugh! Coming!" Veronique cried up the stairs.

"I wonder where Blandine is today," Angelle prattled as she helped her companion with the barrel, "She never misses a day's work!"

The three captors let out a great exhale as soon as the two girls closed the door leading up to the bar. LeFou wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead.

"They're looking for us…we're going to be found!" Matois squeaked from where he was hunched, his eyes looking wildly about.

Blandine and LeFou glared at their cowardly companion in the darkness. Blandine struck a match, her face fearsomely shadowed as she lit the candle that was their only light.

"No we're not, you fool!" she snapped.

"Just wait until it is dark…then we can make our move! They won't find us for long!" LeFou clapped his hands excitedly.

"Are you sure…?" Matois tried to stop the chattering of his teeth.

"As sure as sure, _mon ami_," LeFou, Léon in arms, leaped up onto a barrel, wobbling precariously.

Matois and Blandine's eyes widened with horror as their ringleader wavered with the furry prince, exhaling with relief when he struck a dancer's pose.

"These little beasts are the answer to all our problems!" he announced with a manic grin, holding up the squirming infant, "Imagine: a freak-show greater than you have ever seen before! Circus tents and roasted chestnuts! Cages, rings and tanks!_ Les Curiosités Merveilleuses de LeFou_, that's what it will be called…and it will be the greatest carnival across the continent!"

"Hey!" Matois piped up, "Why has it only got your name in it?"

But he was ignored as LeFou continued on his magnificent ramble.

"From the sewers of London to the wilds of deepest Russia we will travel! Fascinating menfolk, making ladies swoon, horrifying children! 'LeFou' will be a name known to all, ha, ha!" he proclaimed before noticing his companions' glares, "Oh…and Blandine and Matois."

"You forget, LeFou," Blandine interrupted seriously from where she jiggled an upset Sybille, "We have to get out of this damn village without getting caught!"

LeFou waved the barmaid off.

"Ha, Blandine, that will be as easy as brioche!" LeFou rocked Léon wildly and leered down at him, "And what do we have in store for you, little beast? We'll chain them up, have them caged! Let them be pointed and shouted at! We can even give the onlookers vegetables to throw! The crowd will _love_ it! It will be _magnifique_!"

LeFou raised his voice in the final sentence. A scuffling was heard from above and the door to the cellar opened.

"Did you hear something Angelle…?"

In an instant, Blandine grabbed LeFou's small frame and tossed him behind a barrel.

"Hmmm...maybe it was just a rat…"

The voice retreated and the door closed. The candle extinguished in the scuffling, LeFou could still feel the heat of Matois and Blandine's glares upon him. He gulped and smiled apologetically.

"Heh…heh…whoops…?"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Another return! It seems since writing the last chapter that my writer's block may have finally broken...my mind is buzzing with ideas, not only for this story but for many more (keep tuned...) so I thought I might surprise you all with another timely update!_

_I also went through and corrected all the little grammatical inconsistencies that have been present in the previous chapters in a bid to clean this story up a bit so it's as close to 'perfect' as it can possibly be._

_I'm leaving in twelve days and I may well have another chapter for you all before I leave, so I'll save all my Christmas and New Year's wishes for the next update. Thank you to those kind reviewers who have already sent their wishes my way. And thank you to all those who have taken their time to review this little story of mine, whether it be once-off or following chapter by chapter. I really appreciate it and you know who you are._

_Anyway, on with the reading! Let me know what you think and hopefully, one day, I'll get over my habit to end my chapters with cliffhangers so you all won't be left so infuriated by the end!_

_Stride on down to the button below..._

_Fancy Friday._


	17. Dix Sept

_**Dix-Sept.**_

He hated to admit it. Oh, how he loathed to admit it.

But Belle was right.

His pride was sore and his nerves rankled that his wife had once again outwitted him with her cleverness. Prince Vincent now regretted making such an impulsive decision.

Simply going out and 'finding' the twins was not going to work, the Prince had soon discovered. What good was a search party when those searching did neither know _what_ to look for nor _where_ to look?

With faithful Cogsworth and Lumiere by his side in the village square, Vincent had proclaimed the dreadful news that the royal twins were missing…stolen…snatched from their family's embrace...and that he would do anything in his power to get them back. A wave of shock possessed the good townsfolk. A kidnapping of royal children? _Sacrebleu_, such a thing was unheard of! Perhaps such things happened in England…but certainly _not_ in France!

Confident that he had roused the villagers' goodwill, Prince Vincent was soon barraged with a flood of inevitable questions. Townsfolk great and small crowded the trio from the castle, having the Prince's skittish Valiant prance nervously.

When were they last seen?

Who was last with them?

Why were they taken?

What did they look like…?

What did they look like? The question came up again and again as Vincent shared an anxious glance with Lumiere and Cogsworth. What could he say? Belle's words came back to haunt him:

"_What exactly will you say when looking for the twins? 'Oh, excuse-moi monsieur, but have you seen two babies covered in fur? With ears and paws to match?' They would think you are crazy! They would not believe you!"_

Unfortunately for Vincent, she had been right. The twins' secret must be kept…for their safety and for the reputation of the castle. Announcing that the children he had fathered had more in common with animals than humans would cause more of a stir than needed…or would simply not be believed!

Despite dodging every question relating to their appearance, the village still worked itself up into a searching frenzy. The news of the royal disappearance spread far and wide:

"_Bonjour Monsieur_! Have you seen…?"

"_Malheureusement_, I have not."

"Such a horrid thing to have happened!"

"The royal babies, of all children!"

"Someone is out for revenge, I say…"

"Or a bribe!"

Orphanages were ransacked, midwives questioned in great detail. Fishmongers and bakers rummaged through their produce in case a stray babe had been placed there. Some women dissolved into hysterics, carried away by the thought that, _mon Dieu_, what if it had been _their_ children? Every single hiding place a baby could be- haystacks, carts of cabbages, tailor's drawers, barrels of pig scraps- were rifled through in great detail.

Just when Vincent thought the pointless searching could get any worse, a much more opportunistic side of the villagers began to show through.

"I've found one! I've found one!" came a screech from a peasant woman in rags.

The entire village stopped and held its breath. The haggard woman bustled up to the Prince atop his towering steed, clutching a swaddled bundle.

"I've found your baby, You're Highness!"

Vincent looked down at what was in her arms. His expression hardened. A _normal_ baby. A baby with soft, fair skin, strawberry blonde hair and big blue eyes stared up in wonderment at the imposing Prince. A baby without fur, without fangs, without the royal curse.

"That is _not_ my child," Prince Vincent spoke coolly to the peasant woman.

"Oh! But it is!" the hag implored, "Why look, You're Highness! He has your hair! He has your eyes…such a likeness!"

"That is not my child!" Vincent barked, his glare sending the woman scuttling.

The villagers, some armed with their own children to offer, shrank back. Vincent fumed. What incompetence! What sheer deceit! A familiar resentment towards the village bubbled up within the Prince, a kind of bitterness he had not experienced since his youth before the curse, where he considered everyone who was not bestowed with a royal title a complete and utter fool.

"If you are here to offer your own child to me, then consider yourself a disgrace!" Vincent growled at his people, his temper livid and barely under control.

The villagers' eyes dipped in shame, their cheeks burning. By the tavern, and quite ignorant to the scene before him, Aubert, the baker's idiot son, yanked a cat from where it was cowering behind a barrel.

"Baby!" he exclaimed simply, holding up the feline and caressing it, yelping as soon as it yowled and swiped him across the nose.

Vincent had to admit, Aubert's find was the closest likeness to his own children the villagers had found all day.

"Come on Cogsworth…" Vincent sighed tersely, turning Valiant back in the direction of the castle, "This is nothing more than useless."

Silently Lumiere and Cogsworth followed the Prince. A heaviness weighed in the pit of the stomachs as to what a futile day it had been.

* * *

Meanwhile, confined to the castle, Princess Belle gazed emptily out of the window her children had been snatched from. Not a single item in the bedroom had been touched. The window, despite the autumn chill, remained open from the actions of the intruder, the bassinets were undisturbed. Mrs. Potts, still in a state of devastated shock, had sent Babette up with Belle's morning tea on a trolley, but the young woman neither had the heart, nor stomach, to touch a morsel or take a sip.

Her arms felt leaden, her head fuzzy with tears, and, although she tried to fight it, the creeping fingers of defeat touched her mind. Still in her crumpled white nightdress at midday, with a fringed shawl idly wrapped around her by her father, Belle silently gazed out on the vast expanse of kingdom when her children had been taken. They could be anywhere.

Sighing, Belle tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and fought back tears. What good was weeping when her children were missing? Léon and Sybille were out there somewhere, waiting to be found, and what could she do? Those who were brave enough to come up to the grieving Princess' room told her to rest, eat up and that her babies would be found soon. Considered far too fragile, both emotionally and physically, Belle was forbidden from joining the search. All she was required to do was sit and wait…and it hurt her incredibly to do so.

Tearing her gaze from the scene beyond her bedroom, Belle blinked as she noticed her father cautiously enter the room. Her gave her a ginger, lopsided smile, sorrow written all over his features for his daughter, but hoping that his smile might brightened her mood a little. It did not.

"They will be found soon, my Belle. I know it," he spoke tenderly, taking his daughter by the hands.

Belle smiled sadly and shook her head.

"I know you are just saying that, Papa. That is what everyone is saying."

Maurice opened his mouth and closed it, his moustache twitching a little. He was now lost for words.

"Oh, my poor Belle…" he whispered, taking his daughter into his arms.

The pair stood there for a good while. Not a word was said, for at this moment, words were useless.

The herald of a royal trumpet had Belle's eyes suddenly fly open. They were home! Rushing to the window, the Princess leaned out, seeing three mounts and their riders approach the castle. Her heart thumped wildly. Had the children been found? Was Vincent's mission a success? But as the riders came closer into view, the disappointed expressions on her husband's, Cogsworth's and Lumiere's faces said it all. The twins had not been found.

"Oh Belle…" Maurice patted his daughter tenderly on the shoulder.

Belle stiffened and sniffed, holding back a fresh wave of tears.

"Please Papa," she managed in a broken whisper, "I think I need some time alone."

Maurice, with a heavy heart, did as his daughter wished, creeping away and letting the door to her bedroom softly close behind him. Clenching the windowsill and letting a tear fall, Belle cursed the unfairness of it all. What had she done to deserve her children cursed, then stolen? About to turn from the window and crawl into bed with her misery, a fluttering piece of fabric caught the Princess' eye.

A little way down from the window, caught on a thorn on the trellis, was a piece of cloth. _How odd_, Belle thought, _that had certainly not been there before…_

Leaning down and catching the fabric, Belle brought it up for a closer view. That had definitely not been there before! The unmistakable weave of a man's breeches, Belle scrutinised the piece, her brown eyes flicking from the cloth to the bassinets where her children were last seen.

Perhaps…?

Belle, her mind a-whir, suddenly wished that sundown would hasten its step.

* * *

Night fell and the crickets announced their rickety songs. The air was still and the moon slightly clouded as Princess Belle brought the hood of her dark blue cape over her brown waves and silently stole out of the castle. Dressed in the familiar blue frock she had worn in her days before her title of a princess with a white blouse underneath, Belle winced as her navy pumps sank into the mud that lead from the back entrance of the castle to the stables. Pulling her foot free of the brown goop, the Princess steeled herself and continued trudging on to the cedar door that opened onto the castle stables.

The smell of horses and hay hit her nostrils as she slipped in under the cover of darkness, the faint moonlight her only guide trickling along the cobblestones. Tiptoeing stealthily, Belle froze as Valiant, Vincent's mount, gave a soft whinny of recognition towards his mistress. The other horses awoke from their sleep, poking their heads over the stable doors to give the young woman encouraging snorts in hope of a treat she always brought. Belle fingered the sugar cubes she had pilfered from Mrs. Potts' tea set, putting her finger to her lips and hushing the royal horses with a sugary present.

The horses munching and satisfied, Belle made her way to the stall at the furthest end of the stable.

"Psst!" Belle leaned over the door where a horse presented his generous behind to her, "Philippe!"

Philippe, Belle and Maurice's trusty old mount, looked behind him and raised an eyebrow at his mistress. Much too tired and disinterested, he soon dropped his head and continued to doze. Belle rolled her eyes. Typical Philippe!

"I've got treats…" Belle beckoned, the rest of the sugar cubes out flat on her palm.

At this, Philippe's ears perked up as he trotted around in his stall with a soft, anticipating neigh. Gobbling up his treat, Philippe nuzzled Belle's hand and gave a loud snort for more.

"Shhh!" Belle looked over her shoulder cautiously, grasping at the horse's halter, "We need to be quiet now Philippe."

The shaggy horse gave a quieter rumble of acknowledgement. Satisfied that she had captured Philippe's interest, Belle hesitated as she drew something out of her pocket. Holding the piece of fabric she had found earlier aloft, she wondered if she was about to embark upon a very foolish thing. Horses weren't hounds! Did they even have such a keen sense of smell as to trace the scent upon this stray piece of breeches? Shrugging her shoulders, Belle supposed it might as well be worth a try and held out the fabric for Philippe to sniff. Snuffling around at the strange thing in front of him, Philippe's expression was at first confused, then his ears perked up, a sign that Belle hoped would mean he would recognise someone…or something.

"Philippe," she whispered to the horse, "Will you help me find whoever owns this fabric?"

With a confident neigh and what looked like a nod of his head, Philippe was ready to burst out of his stall and help his mistress in her adventure.

"Calm down Philippe!" Belle laughed, quickly fetching a bridle and unlatching the stall.

Shaking his mane and determined to get going, Philippe pranced as Belle deftly mounted his bare back. Nuzzling into his mane and holding the reins tight, Belle stroked the shaggy steed.

"Quiet now Philippe, until we get past the castle…"

With a gentle nudge of her heels, her mount trotted off, the pair slinking past the great royal castle they called home, rooms still illuminated by candles, until they reached far enough to launch into a gallop that would take them into the blackness of the night…

* * *

_**Author's Note:** A final chapter before I make my departure abroad, so I will take the opportunity now to wish everyone reading a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Thank you, once again, to everyone who has kindly reviewed, to those who have alerted and favourited this story and to all those simply following along and reading._

_A few more clarifications before I leave (one would think by Chapter Seventeen most things will be clarified!): some of you have noted 'oddities' in my spelling, which to me, as an Australian, are not oddities at all. We, like the British, use s's instead of z's in words such as 'organised' and 'realised', and spell 'harbour' and other such words with a 'u' instead of just an '-or.' So it's not incorrect, just a different manner of spelling._

_Furthermore, regarding the dialogue of my characters, I have tried to be as faithful to the original film as possible. By juggling 'older fashioned' English with bits of French, I have tried to retain the 18th century Disney-fied world of __The Beauty and the Beast. But, you may note upon careful inspection of the script, that the film does use contemporaneous words such as 'hey' and 'guys' that would not be common until the 20th and 21st centuries as a method to connect to an audience of our times. I noticed that this slang is used particularly amongst the villains, if you take a look at LeFou's verses in the song 'Gaston.'_

_Anymore questions I'll be happy to answer them (and hopefully try not to let the history/English student in me ramble on with another thesis...)._

_As for that, I will bid you adieu for five weeks. I know that you will probably be all frustrated at the cliffhanger I have left you on, but with a little bit of patience I will be back in February and updating as usual!_

_Happy reading and jive on down to the button below!_

_Fancy Friday_


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